Trust is Earned (Redone)
by Blackberry Avar
Summary: One... admittedly large change can have lasting consequences. When finding the Night Fury, he isn't let off the hook so easily. But a Night Fury's venom isn't like other dragons; they do need to keep their race alive somehow. Hiccup finds out the hard way... A transformation fic with a unique twist! Redone by me, original by I am a Night Fury. AU (obviously).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hey guys.**

 **The older readers may have noticed that this is not the original chapter.** **  
**

 **That is because Venomheart the Dreamer has informed me that it was too close to the original story, Trust is Earned.**

 **Without further ado, I present to you the new chapter.**

* * *

This is Berk. Twelve days north of hopeless.

Solidly on the meridian of misery. The food here is tough and tasteless, the Vikings that live in the village... even more so.

It's been around for seven generations, unwanted animal problems notwithstanding.

The only problem is the pests. Some places have mosquitoes or mice. We have dragons.

The oversized reptiles like to drop in for a surprise nighttime visit every week or so and announce themselves with much commotion.

We Vikings don't like that. Don't tell anyone but we like our beauty sleep.

So we decided to stop them in the only way that we Vikings know how. We kill them.

My name is Hiccup. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.

It's a great name, one designed to scare off the trolls, who oddly enough have the nerve to only steal left socks.

I'm the heir. You wouldn't expect that but I'm the heir to the tribe. A bitter one, thanks to how underappreciated I am, but the rather skinny heir nonetheless.

Because of this I am effectively an outcast among the tribe, although my mentor in the forge – Gobber – is like a second father to me (because my first is too busy running the tribe and fighting dragons to keep me in check).

I've always wanted to prove myself by killing a dragon all on my own, thing is, I'm not very hands on at killing stuff, so I rely on my incredible brain to make things to do it for me.

Terrible Terrors are the easiest on their own, but in my personal experience generally not worth going after. These things are tiny, about the size of a cat but swifter and more agile. On their own they aren't really a threat, but they have a tendency to stick together in packs of twenty or so. Their fire, like some other dragons, is uncanny and will burn for a long time if it finds a place to stick.

Terrible Terrors are easy. Piddling, for most people other than myself.

I hear Stoick killed one as a baby.

Gronckles are the slowest of the lot, of course, look like toads and generally have the build of a boulder.

A Deadly Nadder would get me a date. These two legged lizards have shiny scales that are deceptively sharp, and are dangerous from both the front and back. It has the hottest fire we know of and burns through everything in sight, while its tail is covered in poisonous spikes that it can fire at will. A shield is essential when fighting them.

The shields are often unusable after the fact.

Hideous Zipplebacks are exotic. Two heads, twice the status.

Only the best go after the Monstrous Nightmares, who have the nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

But what I really want is the Night Fury. No one knows how many there are or, even what they look like, since we manly Vikings are usually too busy cowering from the incoming blast to be bothered about that kind of thing.

So I went after it and shot it down.

Yes, I, the weediest Viking in all Vikingdom managed to shoot down a Night Fury. How, I hear you ask? I used my brain and invented a bola launcher to shoot bolas farther than anyone I know, even my father.

Once I hit it the Night Fury went down on Raven Point.

Not bad for only a few ropes and balls of rock, huh?

But then I found trouble. Or rather, as often happens, trouble found me, this time in the beastly form of a Nightmare - they drool a lot, who rudely interrupted me by smashing my invention.

And he blew fire at me. Rude!

I led him on a merry chase until I found something to hide behind.

Which only led to another reason why nobody likes me in the village.

Anything that can go wrong around me will go wrong.

In the east they have a name for that. Murphy's law. Here, they call it Hiccup's law, and it never fails. I was hiding behind a pillar that held up the fire towers - giant bowls of fire in the sky. I really have to say that they help the aesthetic. The Nightmare's fire burned through it and it fell, bowl, pillar and all as I scrambled for safety, the brazier snapping off when it hit the ground and rolling through the village as if it were a giant sized top, crashing through houses before it rolled through the docks, missing the ships before it plunged into the sea.

You'd think that would be the end of it.

Oh, and it freed a few of the Nadders in the net who were trying to steal our sheep.

Naturally Stoick wasn't giving me the best of looks.

Trying to convince the villagers that I had in fact hit the Night Fury and was not suffering from what they viewed as my constant delusions was an exercise in futility. Would they listen? Noooooo. Did they care? Noooooo. But I knew that I had hit it!

Which leads me to where I am now, looking up from my improvised sketchbook map, where the most interesting thing was an uninteresting lump of dirt with nothing interesting in it except for a worm.

And I hate worms.

Slimy things.

Another site down, three thousand more to go. I scribbled an x where I thought the spot was, broke the lead of the pencil and scribbled over the rest.

"Oh, the Gods hate me."

"Some people lose their mug or their knife. Now I just had to go off and lose an entire dragon!" I swiped at a branch. It whipped back and hit me in the face, as branches are wont to do.

I glared at the bough, then noticed something about the tree. Something had wrecked it with great force. It looked as if it had been hit by Stoick's hammer. A rend, jagged with splinters showed where a falling object (hopefully a dragon) had hit, snapped the trunk almost in half and left a broken stump standing. The debris scattered around it was almost the size of my arm.

This could only end well.

There! A large trench, gouged into the ground from the tip of the roots forward, almost resembling a rut. Crumbly bits of dirt had been sprayed away from the path and onto neighboring rocks. It looked like some Jotün had used a giant snowshovel to clear away the grass.

Cautiously optimistic, I walked along the trench and crawled up the lip at the other end. As I peeked over the top I gasped and quickly pulled my head back. After a heart thumping moment where it felt like my organs were going to jump out of my mouth, nothing happened.

There it was. A Night Fury. The Night Fury.

* * *

 **A/N.**

 **Phew. So now that's done with.**

 **Cheers. B. A, over and out.**


	2. Fate Be Changed

**Original AN: Here's chapter two, and this is where things start to get different. (Grammar updated).**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD. I would be a mad scientist turning people into mutant lizards.**

 **~ Original by I am a Night Fury.**

 **The older readers may have noticed that this is not the original chapter.** **  
**

 **That is because Venomheart the Dreamer has informed me that it was too close to the original story, Trust is Earned.**

 **Without further ado, I present to you the new chapter.**

* * *

It wasn't very impressive - as unimpressive as a giant lizard ten times my weight might be. No horns, no spikes, only a lithe black body with long, black wings, behind them a pair of smaller fins and on the very end of its tail a final couple. No, only one, for the fin on the left was gone entirely, the wound weeping a dark ooze.

It had been made to master the air.

Cautiously I approached. It did not stir. I poked it and when it didn't move the realization dawned on me.

"I did it! I actually did it! I have brought down this mighty beast!"

Well, the dragon didn't like me presiding over it and shouting like a madman. It groaned and I jumped away, reaching for my dagger. If I wanted to be famous.. If I wanted the redemption of my village... I would have to finish the job.

I stepped closer.

"I'm going to kill you dragon. I'll.. I'll cut out your heart and take it to my father! I am a Viking. I am a Viking!"

I raised the dagger to plunger it into the beast.

Then I did what no one should ever do.

I looked into its eyes.

Emerald green, like mine, only afraid and filled with pain. Almost like me when I looked into a mirror late at night with only a candle to light the way, resigned to my fate, ready to bawl my eyes out -

No! I had to kill it. There was no excuse for not killing it. The dragon closed its eyes and let its head sink to the ground.

I couldn't do it. I pushed down with the dagger, the tip almost meeting the dragon's scales. But I could not make it touch.

I would never kill this dragon. Not in the heat of battle - for then I would be dead in seconds - not here. I wasn't strong enough.

I almost walked away but looked back. I could get my father to come and do it. He would believe me. At last! Perhaps he would be disappointed in me for not being able to kill it myself, but I would have the tribe's appreciation for bringing down a great enemy.

I couldn't stand to see it die.

And leaving it here would be a crueler death. It might starve. It _would_ starve. And someday the only thing left of the majestic beast would be bones and my bittersweet memories of the dragon I couldn't kill but left to die.

I had to. It was an impulse decision, quickened by some feeling of haste. I darted back to the dragon and started sawing through the ropes with my dagger, first one knot, then another.

"Almost there. Almost free."

Was I saying that for me or for the dragon? The dragon probably couldn't understand me anyway.

I never saw its eyes opening, but when the last rope fell away I felt the paw clutching at my throat, saw the ground fall away from me as it jumped up, felt the impact on the back of my head when it smashed me against a rock with no regard for my personal health. Still I saw the eyes. They were filled with anger now, anger and my reflection.

And was that... triumph?

My body relaxed against my will. The end was near.

I wasn't disappointed.

The dragon lunged onto me, clamped onto my torso with its jaw and tossed me onto the ground. My vision filled with grass. I looked up and saw it approaching with a leisurely saunter in its gait. It had won. No point in trying to get away. I would never make it even without the bruises.

It pinned me with its paws, clamping me at the torso again, and I squirmed. The teeth that had been missing - for it had had a full set of them before - appeared as sharp bolts of pain as I felt something pierce my shirt and slice into the skin.

Venom? I felt weaker by the minute. Maybe I was about to faint.

 _"_ _You were never meant to be human. little hatchling. Someday you will thank me for this."_

The last thing I saw before I passed out was a triumphant looking dragon standing over me, emerald eyes staring into mine.

" _Someday you will thank me for this."_

And then I knew no more.

As I slowly awoke on the dusty ground, I struggled to remember what had happened. Then a dull pain in my side snapped me awake, and I knew what had taken place earlier. Hurriedly I glanced around for the dragon. The afternoon's meager light revealed nothing out of place. The dragon was gone. A fresh wave of pain forced me to look down at my side, where I could see where each tooth had dug into my flesh, though there was surprisingly little blood, and I wondered why I had not been shredded while I was out. The dragon had certainly had the chance to, but it had done nothing.

I grunted as I tried to stand up. How touching. Now I had to get back home, somehow, before night fell. I must have been out for a while, and the sky was already getting darker. It was time to go back and face the music. With the prospect of a disappointed and possibly angry father at home I almost wished the dragon had finished the job. But at least I was alive. And I intended to stay that way.

Forcing myself up for the second time, I forced to my legs to take me towards Berk, gingerly rubbing my side with my arm while the other caught me when I stumbled. Not once did I notice the green eyes watching me from the undergrowth.

This was going to be a long walk

Dad couldn't know. It would be better to sneak in. If I could make it to my room and change my shirt I would be safe.

I snuck into the back of the house, made it through the door without it making its usual squeaking noise. Would Dad ever oil that thing? I walked in and froze.

Dad was sitting by the fire, deep in thought. Hopefully he had fallen asleep. Hopefully. I made my way up the stairs, going as quietly as quiet could be. Naturally, I forgot about the sixth step. The moment my foot fell it gave a creak that might as well have been a dragon's roar for the effect it had.

"Hiccup."

He stood up from the stool. Even though I was on the stairs he still towered over me.

"Dad."

"I need to talk to you son-dad."

"I've decided it's time for you to fight dragons."

"I think I've decided I don't want to fight dragons."

Had he noticed? I leaned against the railing to cover for my injury.

"You go first son."

"No, no, you go first."

He sighed.

"Dragon training. You start tomorrow, on Thursday."

This was bad. This was very bad.

"Um. I was thinking we have more than enough dragon fighting vikings, but do we have enough bread making vikings, or small home repair vik-" Dad cut me off.

"Enough. You'll need this.", he said, took an axe from the mantle and passing it to me. I barely managed to hold it up.

"I'm going hunting for the nest tomorrow morning, the ships are are already ready. Goodnight. I'll be back, maybe."

"I'll be here. Probably."

Then he left, the door slamming shut behind him with a bang.

Good. He hadn't noticed my shirt. Most of the time I hated that Dad was so oblivious to my problems. Now I was grateful that he hadn't looked closer.

I went upstairs, passed the window and did a double take. It was fall.

"That's funny," I said aloud. "I could've sworn I saw something green."

* * *

 **AN:  
**

 **Nothing to see here.**


	3. Why Me?

**Made while listening to Sheet Music Boss's channel. Look him up on Youtube.**

 **The older readers may have noticed that this is not the original chapter.** **  
**

 **That is because Venomheart the Dreamer has informed me that it was too close to the original story, Trust is Earned.**

 **Without further ado, I present to you the new chapter.**

* * *

This is the worst night I'd ever had. What was wrong with me?

I woke up to a bad cramp and twitching toes, pain rolling over me in waves before subsiding and fading away. I fell asleep then for a while, dozing fitfully and never able to get any rest for the jabbing pain in my arms. And my wrists. And _everything_. Throughout the entire night I had to deal with it. Was it the bite? Had I survived the moment, only to die from slow-acting poison?

Besides, I was too young for arthritis.

Then why hadn't it just killed me then and been done with it?

And what did it mean by " _Someday you will thank me."_

It was a hallucination, surely. Had to be.

The light of dawn was waxing on the horizon by the time I closed my eyes for good.

Only to be woken up by the clatter of tempered iron what felt like five minutes later. I looked out of the window with a groan, eyes still adjusting to the morning light. At the bottom of the knoll was Bucket standing over what looked like an armful of dropped weapons.

Bucket, the resident artist and also the second dumbest person in Berk - that dubious honor belongs to Snotlout.

"Bucket! Those weapons are for the docks!" yelled Mulch.

Mulch, unofficial caretaker of Bucket.

"I thought this was the docks," said Bucket.

"Nope," said Mulch. "The docks are where the ocean is."

"Right."

"Don't mind Bucket!" yelled Mulch to all the villagers looking down at him from their windows who had been woken up by the commotion.

"It's fine!" I tried to shout, but it came out more as a croak.

Mulch waved.

I waved back at them with my good arm until they turned the corner and put on a new shirt, green, of course, since that was my favorite color. Had been. Maybe I should consider getting something in brown.

Wait. My wounds.

I rolled up my shirt and had a look. Thankfully they weren't an angry bloody mess - already scabs had formed on most of them, but the scabs were black instead of amber. Perhaps it was the bad lighting, maybe it was something else, but the cuts didn't look quite normal.

I hoped it was the lighting.

Well, nothing to do but wash the incisions and hope. I headed downstairs, finding some burnt food on a plate in the kitchen so sooty it was well-nigh unidentifiable. I supposed that it might have been a fish. Well, at least it was better than Gobber's soups. I made myself a sandwich and headed out to the forge, covering my side with my arm so that no one would see.

My side prickled when I touched it now.

Gobber wasn't at the shop when I got there. He must've been out helping Stoick with the last-minute preparations for the nest hunt. Nothing to do but work on some last-minute things in the forge. A few bent swords from the raid last night, spearheads that needed to be pounded back into shape, the usual boring, extremely dangerous work.

For smiths it was an occupational hazard.

"Mornin' Hiccup," said Gobber, coming in by the back way. "Up bright and early, eh? You usually sleep in."

Gobber. My mentor, godfather, boss and friend all rolled into one.

"Good morning to you," I said. "even though I've had a terrible night. I might've gotten an hour of sleep if I was lucky."

"An hour! Why, I remember when I got fifteen minutes of shut-eye. Trust me, yeh've got nothing ta' worry about."

My arm spasmed as I worked the grinder pedal and the sword I had been sharpening flew off the wheel in a shower of sparks.

"Careful!" said Gobber. The business end had gone within a yard of his face.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to! I'm just a little tired, you know, and I guess my hand slipped. Ha ha?"

"Well if you're that tired I don't think you should be sharpening anything too heavy. Are you coming with me to the docks?"

"It's not like I have anything better to do, might as well."

"Hold this, will ya'?"

He tossed me a hammer which weighed about as much as I did, more than the axe at any rate, and which I almost fell over trying to hold

Walking to the docks was a piece of cake - once I discounted the massive piece of weaponry I had to lug all the way and the dull ache in my side which just didn't seem to want to give up and disappear. And...

My father was there helping the men. Oh utter joy.

I mustered a grin, smiled and almost lost grip of the weapon in my distraction, stumbled trying to catch it and failed. It smashed into the deck with a crack shortly before I did, simultaneously managing to attract the attention of everyone onboard.

Off to a great start.

"Morning Dad," I said, and groaned. There was that throbbing pain again...

"Morning Stoick." Gobber said, as he walked up to the Chief, who was busy discussing things with one of the shipmasters from the look of it. Dad looked up. "Busy much?"

"Almost done, actually. We're bringing extra supplies this time, enough to stay out for two weeks."

"Waste of victuals. You're not going to be fighting tha' long. Better ta' keep the food in tha' storehouses."

Gobber noticed me trying to dart off into a corner, partially to avoid my father, partially to avoid the mocking gaze of the crew. He put his good hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face Stoick.

"Don't think yeh're going anywhere little half-pint; yeh've still got your goodbyes to say to yer father."

I scratched the back of my head. "Uhhhhh... Stay safe?"

"What he means," Gobber broke in, "is that he wishes that you would find the nest, kill everything in it, raise the Viking flag, and come home in time for supper."

Did Vikings even have flags? If the Hairy Hooligans did I wouldn't know about it.

"Stay safe," he said. "Learn something while I'm gone."

And then he was off, before I had even been able to give him a hug.

Had I wanted to give him a hug? Of course not! But it was the principle.

I stood on the docks with my hand outstretched until Gobber came by to help me load.

"Ey! What about tha' hammer!?"

I helped load the ships until we were done. Spitelout came up then,

"Good. Is everything in place?"

"We're good to go. The sails are rigged and we carry three spares for every one that we carry on the mainmast. Our stores are set for two weeks, more with fishing and we carry enough water for three weeks sailing, just in case."

"I'll give the word."

"Weigh anchor! We set sail for Helheim's Gate!" Stoick boomed, and soon the decks were buzzing with activity. In less than three minutes three ships had been detached from their moorings and were now heading out into the open sea, growing smaller every second, the only marker of their speed their burbling wake.

I watched them go along with the rest of the village, waited until they must've been a mile away and far, far out of hearing distance before I headed back into the village. I always felt sympathetic for the people left behind, for there was always that terrible chance that one of their loved ones was fated to die. For many it had already happened. A brother or a father, a sister or a daughter had left on the ships, never to return.

Such was the fate of a Viking.

Sometimes I wondered if I could ever achieve something better.

I was no philosopher on life, but maybe my close brush with death yesterday had given me a speculative bent.

I drifted home, walking slightly behind the gang as they meandered through the town square, almost unconsciously mingling with the crowd, ducking my head so that I wouldn't be noticed, the somber atmosphere ruined by Ruff and Tuff's argument over who was older.

"There ye are." Gobber hobbled his way over to the group, and by extension, me. "I hope that you remember that ye have dragon training tomorrow. I want you over by noon sharp or you'll have to clean the dragon pens. He said, threatening, then laughed at the horrified expressions on their faces.

"Not really, but don't be late."

The others looked visibly relieved. For Vikings, dragon training is the ultimate honor, and much of the village gathers to watch the trainees. Screwing up even minutely is a huge embarrassment. Cleaning the dragon pens on your first day would be suicide for anyone's reputation, and the jibes could stick for a lifetime.

Gobber started to talk about the dragons we would face, his tips to beat them and occasionally a drift into one of his war stories before he would snap back on topic. I'd heard his musings a hundred times before; what I didn't know I could learn from the Book of Dragons.

Fishlegs had told me about it before he left me for the gang.

Then I felt the pain, intensifying in my side, needling in the wounds. I gritted my teeth, hands clenching into fists at the sudden pain so that my fingernails dug into my palms.

Pain to dull out the pain.

Hurt for hurt.

It didn't help. Another wave and I fell to my knees.

"Hiccup! What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" I said. Then a cramp hit and I curled involuntarily. "It's nothing!"

It was a lie and Gobber knew it. He didn't believe what I was saying.

"Let me have a look at you," he said, and reached for my shirt.

"No need!"

I scrambled back.

"I can handle it, alright!"

Which was when Ruffnut rolled up the fabric anyway.

"Whoa! Where'd you get _that_?"

I looked down at my torso.

Oh gods. OH GODS.

There was something on my skin. Black.. patches spreading out from the cuts. Like an infection. They looked like they were growing. Maybe that was the hit I'd taken to the head.

I knew from personal experience that that was the color of a snake bite which had been allowed to fester. I was going to die for sure.

"You look like you got hit by a windmill," said Tuff.

"No. Look at those marks. Almost like a dragon bite, only the size of the head is all wrong," said Fishlegs.

"I don't know wha's happening to yeh but yeh need the healer! Somebody go get Gothi!"

The world started spinning after that. I started seeing black spots dancing in front of me surrounded by emerald globes. Like eyes. Night Fury eyes. Watching me. I saw a commotion - legs moving about in front of me, and then nothing made any sense.

When I came to I was laying on the bed in Gothi's hut, still feeling terrible and awfully heavy. Gobber and someone else, who I didn't recognize through the painful haze, paced within the small building, while the Gothi ground herbs into a green medicinal paste which I was rather sure I wouldn't like. She mixed the medicine into a broth and offered it to me to drink, which I did, or tried to.

My hands absolutely refused to cooperate with my brain, and I could hardly raise my arms anyway, so she opened my mouth, waited for my breath to stabilize, and poured it down my throat. Instantly my mouth felt like it was on fire and my jaws felt like stones. I gurgled and spat out most of the medicine onto the blanket, and Gothi's face, only managing to choke a few drops down.

The fire spread to the rest of my body, and then the pain was too much to hold. I writhed out of the blanket and onto the floor, kicking over the lamp stand, which fell almost into my lap. The smell of smoke filled my nostrils, and someone grabbed my hand. I screamed and almost blacked out from the pain again, but it didn't sound like my normal scream. Instead it was more like a roar, nearly animal-like in its fury.

The enormous pressure on my back and spine changed into the feeling of cancerous expansion (not that I knew what that was), and fleshy growths extended from my back, rapidly ballooning in size and almost completely dark in color. Somewhere in my body one of my bones fractured, then snapped, then another, and another, until I was roaring so much that I almost ran out of breath. Then I gasped one painful gasp, and it was back to roaring again.

Oval black objects ripped through my fragile skin from the place where the dragon had bit me. I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out. Some detached part of my mind marked the oval objects as scales. Suddenly, and with clear certainty, I knew what was happening to me.

I saw Gobber kneeling next to Gothi, trying to listen but looking unsure as to what I'd actually said. And as if the words themselves had catalyzed a change, everything seemed to speed up. Black dragon scales wrapped themselves around each one of my limbs, slithering over my torso and up to my head, enveloping it. The shapeless objects on my back formed long, bat-like wings and a long tail with fins around it's base and tip.

And as the scales covered my head and mangled my hair I felt my skull distort, growing longer but flatter at the same time, my nose broadening and my teeth growing into brutish fangs as my voice lost its last vestiges of humanity.

Then my outward metamorphosis was over, but I wasn't done yet. My bones, shattered and broken, reduced to mere shards, began to reform themselves. And Gods, it hurt. And finally, it ended. I was now a smaller replica of the same Night Fury that I had found. And before unconsciousness claimed me I tried to yell, tried to yell but it came out as a weak roar.

Darkness.

* * *

 **A** **N.**

 **Fixed once and hopefully for all.**


	4. For A Fistful of Trouble

**A/N: Thanks for all the positive reviews, and some of the ones which had a healthy dose of constructive criticism. I'm looking at you Dantae.**

 **~ Original by I am a Night Fury, revamp by B. Avar, changed because Venomheart the Dreamer pointed out a few things (for the full explanation check the author's notes of chapters 1, 2 and 3).  
**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD. However, since I spend my nights planning how to take over the world, you can expect me to buy out the franchise sometime in the future, probably before the decade is out. Imagine. HTTYD 4, A Blackberry Avar production. Coming soon to a theater near you.**

 **A major shoutout to kc7gr, whose story _The Dragonwing Effect_ inspired me to become a better writer for this fanfiction community. If you have the time I'd appreciate if you visited his work. It really is something. **

**Made while listening to Bob Dylan – Can you please crawl out your window?**

 **~ B. Avar. Gobber's POV.**

* * *

I stared in horror at the thing that now lay on the floor where Hiccup had writhed only a moment ago, too shocked to move. My body was distant, as though I were only inhabiting it, and a chill ran down my spine. Somewhere in the background Gothi dropped her pot, and I heard the loud smash of hardened clay shattering in an instant.

At my side, Haldric, the father of Astrid and my second closest friend, looked much the same, only more frightened. Naturally, he had come running the moment he learned that my godson was deathly sick, and now he had been forced to endure this terrible spectacle. He was a younger man than I, and though we Vikings are steadfast and battle-hardened, the dragon's transformation would have shaken anyone.

I shivered.

The beast before me sneezed in its unconsciousness, and Haldric nearly bolted. A trickle of crimson blood leaked from its snout and dribbled into slit nostrils. As I watched it sneezed again, and turned its head.

The dragon was a small little thing, not much longer than Hiccup had been before, and no less lanky, and its wings were thin as a butterfly's. Smooth, black scales covered the entirety of its body from head to tail that seemed to swallow up the light of the fire, which was fast being extinguished as the Gothi doused it with a soaked cloth that she kept handy for such occasions.

Surprisingly, it had no spines, but an extra pair of membranous fins just behind the wings which I could barely see, they blended into its scales so well. Ebony legs, powerful muscles, and paws like a lynx's completed my impression of an sleek, deadly warrior that no one had ever before seen. This thing was not in the book of dragons, and I had memorized it before I was three. It practically radiated elegance.

Without warning, the dragon shifted its weight and rolled over. It was slowly waking up, and though I had qualms about injuring a dragon that had once been my apprentice, my training dictated what I had to do.

"Haldric." I said. He was still rooted to his place, not moving. "I'll hold the beast down. Go get the wagon from the arena." My friend nodded, and drifted towards the door as if in a daze. I shook his shoulder. "Do it quickly; it won't be long before the entire village knows what's happened here. And get some men up here on the double." Hal banged his head with his fist to shake out all the cobwebs, then took off like a streak down the hill and into the village.

I pinned down the dragon, which was still completely knocked out, and waited for the wagon to arrive. Hopefully the beast which had used to be Hiccup wouldn't wake up before that happened.

It was a good ten minutes before the capture vehicle arrived, accompanied by five strong men and a gaggle of young followers who had followed the excitement, during which the dragon grew ever more restless. Speaking of which, I needed a name for this thing. Simply calling it 'the dragon', or 'the beast' could not suffice for too much longer.

In reality the capture vehicle, as I liked to call it, or the dragon wagon, was nothing more than a wooden cart with wheels and chain straps, designed to move dragons to the arena, both conked out and furiously awake I might add. Looking at the dragon, I decided to christen it the Night Stalker, since it was so dangerous looking and black, or would be, if it was full sized, and so named, myself and Haldric wound the muzzle tight around the beast and lifted it into the cart. Even for a dragon, it was surprisingly light.

With this done, we began the journey towards the arena, skirting around the main body of the village, as a caravan like this was bound to attract questions. Thankfully, we managed to slip past most of the population and made it to the arena, where myself, Haldric and another, Thorvald I believe, hogtied the Stalker down to the center of the ring, still on the wagon.

I dispatched Thorvald to fetch the few experienced dragon slayers still on the island, and to shoo away our company of followers, which was beginning to be more of a crowd at this point than anything else. Annoyed, they all disappeared to whatever they had been doing before, mainly, the regular day to day work that was most of the living here.

Everyone except for Gothi, apparently. The old lady can be a real sneak when she wants to, and the commotion of shooing away the crowd left us distracted enough so that she was standing in front of the dragon's face by the time anyone noticed her, prying one of the dragon's eyes open. I think it was Haldric who saw her first, for it was he who raised the alarm.

"Gothi! What are you doing!?" he, more than a little flustered. "You're not supposed to be here!"

The Gothi turned around and drew a few squiggles in the dust, ignoring Haldric entirely. Reflexively, I translated what she had written. 'Look into his eyes,' it said.

"Who's eyes?" I asked, stupidly.

Gothi made expression that practically screamed 'duh at me and bopped me on the head with her hickory stick. For such a small woman, she certainly knows how to bring the hurt. Then she pointed at the dragon. I hesitated for a second, but since Gothi was the elder, it was always a good idea to do what she said. Kneeling down by its head, I kept my axe ready in my right hand, and tentatively reached out with my left.

The moment my fingertips graced the front of its forehead, its eyes snapped open.

* * *

Well that was a… weird dream, to say the least. I dreamed that I was rudely woken up by Bucket dropping a crate, Dad left to find the nest and I turned into a Night Fury. My dreams are just getting curiouser and curiouser these days. Not to mention more macabre. I wonder what terrible circumstances are lying in wait for me today.

I opened my eyes, more quickly than I usually did, and took in my surroundings. Huh, I didn't seem to be in my bedroom, so.. and there was Gobber's face.

Definitely a nightmare, though thankfully not of the dragon type.

I jerked my head away from the apparition, only to be abruptly brought to a clinking halt by something around my neck. I winced from the sudden impact on my neck as my head swung up and was restrained by something attached firmly to my face.

I tried to stand up and politely ask dream Gobber for directions, but the rest of my body seemed to be tied to the ground quite firmly. I looked down. That was funny. There were even chains around my rather scaly wrists. Wait, scales? Black scales? Damn it. Either this was real, and I was completely and totally screwed, or Gothi had put some serious hallucinogens in that broth of hers. Hopefully it was the latter.

I looked back at Gobber again, trying to see if anything seemed unreal about him. Only instead of Gobber standing there, Gothi had pushed her way in front of him and was looking down at me. Behind and above her, a crow cawed, and the harsh northern wind blew over my scales. 'On the plus side,' that little corner of my sarcastic brain remarked, 'the weather doesn't make you so uncomfortable anymore now that you're a giant beast with scales.'

Gothi leaned closer to me, and my mind flicked back to her. She was giving me a really creepy look, as if she could see through me and read all my thoughts and memories, and I couldn't do a thing. Then she'd predict my gruesome death, or something like that. I fidgeted at the idea. Dying gruesomely by the hands of my own village was definitely not the best way to go, I thought.

In the background, I noticed that everyone was still looking at Gothi, so I did too, once more. She was still giving me that creepy stare. It's more than a little hard to not pay attention when she gives you _The Look._ That was, until she bopped you on the head with her hard hickory stick. I had even heard somewhere that it might be made out of ironwood, a legendary material only used for the strongest of bows. But I digress. Let me tell you, she has a mean right hook with that thing, and when she whacked me with it my skull felt like it was spinning, and for a moment I thought I saw stars.

"Ow!" I said, or at least I tried to say. It came out as more of a pained grunt.

If I could I would've rubbed my nose where she had tenderized it with her staff, but I was still tied down with some of the strongest ropes on Berk. When it comes to dragons, we take no chances. It was more than a minor inconvenience. Instead I settled for shooting her a rather hurt look. Yes, I know, it's not much of a Viking thing, what we usually do being much more violent, but I'd been through a lot of trouble recently, so it was worth a try.

I didn't know if it would work however, seeing as someone had taken the trouble of muzzling me. How rude.

It seemed to work, for she smiled at me before turning away to face Gobber, completely exposed. Either she's trusting me not to attack because she thinks I'm still, well, me, or she trusts in the chains holding me down. Knowing the general attitude around here, I think she trusts the chains more. Typical.

Gothi scuffed out something in the dust with her boot and began to write something. Myself and Gobber are usually the only ones who can translate what she does, but at the angle I was at I couldn't see clearly, so I had to rely on what my mentor was saying. And boy, sometimes he can be quite moronic, despite his proficiency at smithing and his sporadic bright ideas.

"Remember, trolls eat socks. So that's what happens to my left socks. But what does that have to do with him?" He gestured with his axe to me, and Gothi bonked him on the head again, causing me to snicker quietly.

There were several other men in the ring besides Gobber as well, and it seemed that they also fought to contain their laughter. Besides the strange man from before, who I thought I recognized after I inspected him a little, there were also at least five others all enjoying Gobber's embarrassment.

"Oh…. Remember, trust is earned. But what does that have to do with it again?" Gothi glared at him, perhaps tired of smacking people on the head by now. Not many people can withstand that look and not cower, and Gobber, despite his translation skills, isn't one of them. At least I'm glad I'm not the one it's being directed at for once.

Gobber looked up from the scribblings on the floor and at me, clearly trying to think and obviously puzzled. Finally something clicked. "We have to earn trust?" Gothi nodded and gestured for him to continue, as if saying, _go on_. The _stupid_ was implied. "We have to earn each other's trust." Gothi nodded again, less exasperated this time, and Gobber sighed with relief, then thought of something disagreeable, for his face scrunched up in that particular way he gets when he realizes the consequences of a bad action.

"But how do you know that it's still Hiccup? It could be another dragon waiting for us to let our guards down before it attacks us." He questioned, out loud. I heard other Vikings muttering their assent. To be honest, I'm not surprised that he brought that up. It's not like that kind of thing hasn't happened before, the catastrophic events of three years ago coming to mind, but then again, this situation is completely new to Berk. After all, the Viking credo here is 'if it's a problem, kill it on sight', when it comes to anything non-human.

That's a worrying thought. The wind, which had not affected me so much before, now seemed much more chilling, and my stomach twisted itself into a knot.

" _I'm still me Gobber."_ I said, or tried to say. The muzzle constricted my jaws and I could not continue, but even if I could say anything more it wouldn't matter. Everything had come out hopelessly garbled like an animals' injured growl, and unless you were some sort of dragon throat expert – or just extremely good at facial expressions, there was no way anyone would've been able to understand me. Still, there was a possibility that I could write my way out of this, but I didn't think I could hold a quill or even a pencil, which made that out of the question. Besides, my arms, or legs, depending on how you looked at it, were still tightly bound to the dirty floor of the kill ring and I couldn't move them.

Frustrated, I became restless, and wriggled my body inside the restraints. That probably wasn't such a good idea, seeing as how a few of the Vikings tensed and held their weapons tighter, moving into instinctive combat stances. I stopped and gave a baleful grin, or as big of one as I could within the muzzle.

My body, however, saw the weapons as a threat, and I felt talons extend out of the bottom of my paws, scraping the frame of the wooden carriage. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, but in that moment I had an idea.

Using one of my extended talons, I focused on my left paw and from there, my pointer finger, or talon, now that I thought about it. It appeared that Night Furies had four talons on the front of their paws, plus one that would be the equivalent of my pinkie on their hocks, presumably for traction.

It took me a while, but I managed to successfully scratch out the word Gobber in the wood. It was harder than I'd expected because I had to hold my talon at a strange angle while fighting my restraints, but when I had finished I peered at the marks with a hint of pride, not realizing that I had begun to purr.

I looked at Gobber. From his blank expression I could see that he had no idea of the tremendously important thing that had just happened.

I waited, and when I grew impatient I rapped my claws on my handiwork loudly.

Gobber looked over and saw what I had written. He squinted and leaned closer so he could see better. I've always suspected that his vision is quite short of being the best in the world, but I digress.

"Gobber?" he said, a little confused. "Gobber!"

The unfamiliar man looked at him sideways, as if what he was saying was a little strange. The other Vikings snorted.

"You're already here Gobber. What's the excitement about?" asked another, Thor something or other.

The tapping of wood against sandy dirt brought everyone's attention back to Gothi, who was standing by her squiggles and tapping the ground by them, looking directly at Gobber again.

Gobber's face scrunched up again and he thought, inspected his axe blade, just in case.

The knot in my gut, already tight, quadruple-tied itself painfully.

Hopefully it was just in case.

"In all my life, I have never met a dragon who could be trusted not to kill me to save its own skin."

Not for the first time, I watched my impending death approach in slow motion, the axe blade cutting through the air with a swish.

A thought came to me in those instants.

Maybe this time I wouldn't escape. Maybe this time I would be finished for good.

I hoped that Gobber would regret my death.

* * *

 **Disclaimer: You do not have to like this fic at all; in fact, I don't mind if you hate on it, as long as you are constructive with your criticism.  
**

 **Thanks Venomheart.**

 **B. Avar.**


	5. A New Friend, Sort Of

**A/N: Someone asked me how quickly I would be rolling out updates, and I told him that it would be soon. Since I have a ridiculous tendency to procrastinate, I am working on this chapter five days earlier than I planned to avoid any delays.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD; If I did, then Toothless would breath plasma jets and blow things up with giant lasers. Thank goodness that isn't happening.**

 **For those who do not understand how the story works:**

"Human talking."

'Human thinking."

" _Dragon talking."_

" _Dragon thinking."_

 **Made while listening to I'd Love to Change the World, by – you know what, you already know this gig. I also** **got beats from** **some Tron electro and Are You Gonna go my Way? - by Lenny Kravitz and his band.**

* * *

If this is what being dead feels like, then I have a complaint against whoever runs this place. Nothing feels different, in fact, it feels like I'm still lying on a rickety wooden cart, albeit one with heavy chains attached to it, waiting for my inevitable doom. I should at least feel like I'm floating or something, right? This is serious! The God of death should have a decent waiting room, at least. Still, there was nothing. I still felt like I was tied down to an uncomfortable wagon and that the northerly wind was still murmuring over my scales. I opened one of my eyes cautiously.

And immediately felt like a complete idiot.

Gobber was in my face again, with the unmistakable 'scenery' of the kill ring behind him. 'It seems that you are forever doomed to wake up with people uncomfortably close to your head now', said that one snarky corner of my brain that was always making sarcastic remarks at all the wrong times. I mentally slapped away the distraction and focused on Gobber, or rather the axe he was holding, which was lodged into a board just beneath one of my paws.

I pulled back my talon, just in case, thanking the universe for small mercies.

With a hefty grunt Gobber pulled on the handle of the axe and it popped out easily with a small ' _crunk._ This did not help my nerves, although it seemed that no one had gotten the bright idea yet of maiming me yet by chopping my legs into tiny pieces, not that I could do anything about that tragic event should it come to pass.

Then there was a clank and the rasping of chains. While I was distracted Gobber had been nimbly undoing the lock on one of the chains which was holding down my talons. It slipped loose and hung limply over the floor of the kill ring, wavering occasionally whenever there was a gust. Almost absentmindedly I noted that the wind was picking up heavily, and the distinct, damp musk of rain now hung in the air more heavily with each passing minute. Far off but still somehow crystal clear was a rolling bank of clouds boiling up from the west-north-west towards the island.

I tested my freedom of movement; now, with one chain undone, I could move my left claw better than I had been able to before, but it was still held down somewhat by all of the other cuffs clamped to my person.

I peered at Gobber. His face was stern, almost sterner than the time I'd blown the forge by accident with one of my experiments.

"Write something else." He commanded. "And don't try to fool me with one of your infernal tricks."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes flippantly and thought of something to write. It couldn't be anything too long, but it had to be something Gobber would no. Should I mention… Nah. Oh, I know!

I focused on my left claw – strange, to think of my appendages as such things - and extended the sharp equivalent of a forefinger. It took me a while to finish the message, and Gobber and his companion leaned in with obvious, unconcealed interest. When I was done I looked proudly at my handiwork.

TROLLS GET LEFT SOCKS, it said in thin, gangly letters. It wasn't my best handwriting, but then again, I was just getting used to this.

"Anyone who knows me knows about those Thor-damned trolls. Do something original, something only my apprentice would know." demanded my mentor.

For a moment I was at a loss. I could tell everyone about the aftermath of the 'undie incident, something which would undoubtedly be hilarious, although it would probably see me beheaded in the wink of an eye. Then again, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Then I saw the dull firebrick of the arena's walls, and an inkling of mischief popped into my brain spontaneously.

A few moments of writing with my talon – writing was tricky upside down -, and I had my revenge.

BRICK STEW, it said in hastily cast runes.

"Brick stew?" asked a Viking, who had come closer to see what all the fuss was about, and was currently rather confused. "What's that supposed to mean? I mean, it isn't like anyone would really put bricks in soup, would they?"

In the background Gobber was groaning and pinching his nose, looking at me like I had betrayed him horribly. Granted, he had told me to keep that affair completely secret, but since I was currently a dragon, I felt that I had the rights to do just about anything with his secrets as I pleased. And this wasn't even his worst one. It paled compared to the aftermath of the undie incident, but it was still a large one.

Because Gobber can't make stew to save his life. Sure, he's good at other things, and he likes to cultivate an image of being a grizzled culinary artist, but this is one of his greatest embarrassments.

You see, when I was eleven or so, about that age, Gobber decided to fix his inability to make soup. He strutted into the forge one day looking proud as a peacock, one of the sayings I had picked up from traders who visited the east, and told me to drop my work and come help him with something. So I did.

He had personally picked some of the best ingredients from out in the forest on his own time, and his arms were full of onions, artichokes, tubers and a special kind of sour berry that has a tangy aftertaste. He also had a few sprigs of rosemary and three bunches of asparagus, with a quartet of spinach mixed in.

He told me to stoke the fire and started chopping up the tubers, then took some stock and poured it into a pot he had cleaned out for the occasion until it shined. That was when I knew something was up, because Gobber hates doing the dishes, second only to Mildew, and even that was debatable.

So he poured in the stock, which I later learned he had bought from some Jorgenson or other, because he wasn't an expert at making it himself. Then he ordered me to cut up some asparagus while he fetched the cream and set down all of the fresh food. This I did, and I was halfway done when he got back and threw in the spinach, cutting it up sideways first, then added the sour berries.

Now he sliced up more tubers and some wild chakra, and added this slowly, stirring as he went and pouring in small amounts of yak milk, perhaps a quarter of a cup at a time. He chucked in the rosemary just then, I believe.

Once I was done cutting up the asparagus, he took it and slid it in using the cupboard. After that we let it simmer on a fire for a while, overnight. Oh, remember those sour berries? Gobber used all of them. A strange smell, almost like burnt buttermilk, emanated from the pot, but the stout forge-master didn't seem to notice at all. Maybe he thought that was normal for milky soups, or it was just because he was in the forge so often he had gotten used to it. He really had no experience at all.

Well, when we got back the next morning the place smelled like a madhouse. Gobber cried out and raced to the stew pot, but could find nothing wrong with it until he opened the lid.

It looked as if a dirty egg had exploded in there, streaked with guano.

What I think happened is that the berries messed with the cream in some way, almost as if it was vinegar, and that had caused the solids to separate and sink to the bottom, where they stuck with a vengeance, bubbling and gassing wildly. That was what had caused the funny smell. Then the liquids boiled away, leaving it as hard as a rock. I know for certain that I lost at least one of my teeth, maybe two, when I tried to eat the remainder of the stew. Gobber casually mentioned that the brown stuff at the bottom of the pot looked almost like a brick, and the name was born.

My mentor told me to never, ever mention the brick stew to anyone, not even Stoick. Perhaps he was concerned that if I did, he would never hear the end of it from his close friend and drinking buddy, or maybe he thought that if I got in the habit of running my mouth too much, I would spill the secret on accident.

So I never talked about it, not even to my father, but only to Gobber when he was in a teasing mood, and as the raids grew worse, so did the atmosphere. By the time my fourteenth birthday rolled around, we barely talked about anything except work and my crazy inventions any more, and I had nearly forgotten about the entire ordeal by the whole 'getting turned into a dragon' gig.

Speaking of the present, I saw Gobber storm out of the ring, not even bothering to stop the door to the kill ring from crashing down when he left. It hit the ground with a heavy _bong,_ and the ground trembled before falling silent.

The rest of the Vikings stuck around until Gothi left, not long afterwards. Of course I wasn't so foolish as to believe that they hadn't posted any sentries about, and many a time I saw a rough-and-tumble Viking staring down at me with either a mix of hatred, or a quiet look of contemplation, and often a small child or a group of small children would pop their heads over the embankment, sometimes laughing and playing, but most of the time making faces at me.

Strangely enough, there were few adults. I supposed that they were arguing in the town hall about what was to be done with me. Hopefully I wouldn't be killed gruesomely, because I would prefer a thousand years in the cart to that, at any rate. Strangely enough, I didn't see any of the gang.

Soon it began to rain, first a sprinkle, then a shower, and then a full-blown cloudburst. The wind buffeted my scales and caused the chains on top of the kill ring to rattle and clash against each other, while gusts screamed across the landscape, spraying water everywhere. The guard went in when he decided he'd had too much wet, and I was left drenched and lonely.

Lighting crashed, boomed and roared, seeming to flash closer with every strike, and the storm lit up bright whites and blues every time a bolt streaked through the atmosphere. It hurt my ears terribly, so much so that I thought that they would bleed. Everything had become much more sensitive when I'd turned into a dragon, and hearing was no difference.

' _Unless I go deaf, of course.'_ I thought to myself, and the way things were going that certainly seemed to be a distinct possibility.

The sky turned gray and black. The sun had not yet set, but it was close. A faint tinge of red and purple edged through the western clouds, but it was just that, faint. There would be no relief from the storm for another twelve hours, at the least.

" _You are one strange dragon,"_ said a voice. I started and nearly tipped over the cart. Recently I had taken up the craft of whittling, and the surface of the wood was covered in scratches.

" _Who was that? Show yourself!"_ I said, or tried to say through the muzzle.

" _Your conscience,"_ the voice said dryly.

I looked around the arena and saw nothing suspicious. As far as I knew, there was nobody else in the ring. _"_ _SO, if you're my conscience, do you have any advice for my current predicament?"_ I sounded a little desperate. When I go to Valhalla someday, assuming that I would be accepted despite being a dragon (now that's a scary thought), then I'm going to beat the crap out of the cruel, cruel man who invented muzzles. I couldn't even breathe properly.

" _You're stuck in a restrainer."_ pointed out the voice. I rolled my eyes. _"What's new, Captain Obvious?"_ I asked.

" _As I was saying, you're stuck in a restrainer. The floor is weaker than the sides; if you push down hard enough you can get the entire assembly to pop open. Be careful not to bust the wheels though; you'll need them to get around, at least until I can get those chains off you._ _Funny little dragon, talking to Scavengers like they're actually intelligent creatures."_

I followed the mystery dragon's advice for a moment, then paused. _"Hold on a second, did you just call Vikings unintelligent?"_

" _Yep. They're just clever, not smart if you ask me. Although I am stuck in here in a cage, so there's that._ _And where did you get the name Vikings?_ _That_ _s_ _ounds a bit antiquated."_

I didn't have time to argue with this particular caged dragon over semantics. I looked down at the wagon and discovered that the mystery voice was right about the bottom being weak; since I couldn't move my front claws very well, I punched through the wood with my hind legs, a thoroughly weird and yet satisfying experience. Oh well. I supposed that after this not much would be strange anymore; and I'd go back to life looking at Bucket as a lifeline for sanity.

I kicked the bottom of the cart again, and I could feel a creak as some of the frame gave way. Soon I was able to hear small pops whenever I hit, and I knew that the nails inside the wood were bursting out of the sockets until finally the floor gave way, and the rest of the cart soon afterwards.

I tore off the muzzle with my newly freed claws and sucked in a breath of cold air, still ripe with rainfall. For a few moments I simply stood there, letting the water trickle down my throat and the fresh air tickle my nostrils until my lungs were full of the stuff. Then I exhaled, and repeated the process. I stretched and yawned.

New muscles crackled in unexpected places, but the end result was much the same. I felt infinitely better. It was about that time that the voice interrupted my gleeful reverie.

" _Now that you're done swallowing air like there's no tomorrow, is there any chance you could get me out of this cage? I'm waiting."_

" _Yeah yeah yeah, I'll be there in a minute."_ I replied. I now knew roughly which door the voice was coming from. All of a sudden it struck me as completely unnatural to be talking to a dragon. How could I hear him; especially in Norse, the language that I'd always spoken, while the voice was undoubtedly speaking something different? Was it a kind of thought-speak, projected with only my mind? And most importantly; should I trust this dragon who I've barely even talked to, let alone met face to face? Probably not. But it was my only chance at rescue, and I took it.

Walking is a lot harder when you have two extra front legs, it seemed, and I tripped over myself countless times just trying to walk a few feet. Walking is also a lot more difficult when you have a bunch of broken beams stuck on your ankles with heavy chains. Eventually I decided not to bother with trying to use my legs, especially since the ground was so slick, and simply crawled over to the portcullis gate.

" _Are you in this one?"_ I asked.

" _Yes."_ said the voice. _"I would greatly appreciate it if you helped me get out of here please! You've been mucking around on the ground doing who knows what_ _for the better part of an hour."_ I snorted.

" _Please. Even I know it hasn't been that long."_

Once I had reached the door, I stood up and looked around for the lever that set off the chain mechanism that opened the door, one that I had helped design myself only a few years ago as a replacement for the rickety old crank that had preceded it.

I reached out to pull down the lever. Or tried to. At that moment a spectacularly bright bolt of lightning struck the Kill Ring directly on the metal cage, and the current flowed into the arena. That is what I think happened, for with an enormous, flesh-burning sizzle I was thrown back onto the stone nearly twenty feet by my spasming muscles. I landed in a heap, nearly unconscious but not quite, completely stunned by the near impossible volume of the boom.

But I had opened the door. The gate swung open and the beams that held it together smashed into the arena walls with a crash to rival most thunder. I couldn't appreciate it. I was limp on the ground like a discarded vine after a vicious game of tug-of-war.

The world rang with echoes for a few minutes, and I could hear someone talking in the chaos. I felt terrible, and when I regained enough of my senses to actually feel anything, I realized to my chagrin that my ears really were bleeding. On the plus side, the shock had completely destroyed the cuffs on my ankles and hands – er, paws. Scattered splinters of wooden boards lay all over the arena.

A huge, taloned foot turned me over so that my face was no longer planted into the ground, and I could see the stormy sky. A bluish object filled my vision, wavering back and forth as though it were simply a reflection on rippling water. It was only later that I realized I was seeing double.

The object poked at my face.

" _Are you all right?"_ it asked. _"_ _Gee, you look awful small."_

I grunted and tried to roll over. My scales were still burned and tender, and I suppressed a growl of pain as my most badly scorched parts made contact with the sandy ground. For once I felt thankful for the downpour; it soothed my hard skin and cooled me off wonderfully, almost like a good soak at home. My vision cleared.

Towering over me was a gigantic Deadly Nadder with blue scales and yellow spots, though they were hard to make out through the rain. Well, maybe not gigantic, but I was lying on the ground like a crumpled haystack, so don't judge me here.

It nuzzled my head. _"_ _Are you all right?"_ it asked me again. Somehow I associated the voice with female now that I could see the dragon. _"_ _You're not talking to me."_

I grunted again and raised up my back. Water streamed into my eyes and I scrunched up my eyelids to drive it out.

" _I feel like I just got struck by lightning."_ I said. This was true. _"_ _Of course I'm not alright."_

It was the female's turn to frown. She inspected me with what was clearly a practiced eye, which made me more than a little nervous. When she had finished she scowled.

" _You've been burned pretty badly,_ _it seems."_ she began. _"Your scales are nearly melted together, to say nothing about your muscles."_ As if to accentuate her statements, my wings twitched involuntarily. _"Not to mention that you're pretty small to begin with. How the heck did you even get out here? Don't you know that you're supposed to stay in the nest until you're_ _at least… never mind._ _The question is whether or not you can stand."_

I lifted my body precariously with my front legs first, then my hind ones, almost stumbling several times as I did so. My wings hung limply out at my sides. In all honesty, I had no idea how to use them, or even the ability to at the moment. I could hold myself up, but only just. A pang in my stomach told me that I was hungry, and there was itch in my scales from all the rainwater. I looked up at the Nadder.

" _Who are you, anyway?"_ she asked. _"_ _I've never seen you at the nest. Granted, I've been in_ _here for who knows how many moon-cycles, but I ought to know you from somewhere."_

I grimaced. My name was embarrassing enough in my own tribe; who knew what it might mean in Dracon, or whatever they used these days. Unfortunately, I didn't have any time to invent a new one.

Unfortunately (what was up with my luck this week, this was worse than Mondays!) it was at that moment that my muscles decided to spasm, and guess what? I hiccuped. It went something like this.

" _My name is..."_ and here the spasms intervened. _"Hic- Hiccup."_ Evidently hiccup was a word that crossed species barriers. The Nadder chortled at me.  
 _"_ _And_ _h_ _ow hard did you hit your head again?"_ she asked.

" _Pretty hard."_ I said, before realizing exactly what it was that she had asked me. I frantically backtracked. _"No, no. I didn't hit my head at all! It was just a small bump. Nothing to see here! Toodles!"_

I backed away as fast as I could before turning around and attempting to run away. It worked – for about a fifth of a second. I tripped over my own feet and promptly faceplanted into the muddy ground in a rather undignified manner while the Nadder, whose name I had still not learned, laughed her head off.

I scrambled to my feet, offended. _"It's not funny!"_ I yelled. The Nadder laughed harder, which only served to make me more angry.

" _Th_ _is is the worst day of my life_ _!"_ I roared, when I'd finally had too much. _"I passed out yesterday in front of the entire vill_ _age, and got carried over to the healer's hut and dumped in with no regard for my own personal safety. Then I got turned into_ _a dragon by another dragon and everyone thought I'd gone feral, so they carted me over to this stupid arena and tied me down like a farm animal. This is not FUNNY!"_ Thunder roared ominously in the background as I shouted my tirade against life.

" _Okay, so it isn't funny."_ said the Nadder when she had finally sobered up. I glared at her expectantly. _"It's hilarious._ _A Viking changed into a dragon? You've definitely gone loopy."_

" _I am not!"_ I protested.

" _Yes you are. I'm going to take care of you until you get your memories back. To keep you safe, ok?"_ It was more of a statement than a question, and I hated it.

" _No!"_ I couldn't believe this was happening to me. _"This is ludicrous! I have rights to realism you know!"_

* * *

 **A/N: Whelp, there you go. Hiccup has a friend – sort of, if friends fall into the extremely dangerous and condescending type. I'll probably do a chapter from Astrid's POV pretty soon. Tell me what you think in the review box below!**

 **Also, I'm organizing a poll on my profile page about the fate of Trust is Earned (revamp). I would greatly like to see your feedback and I hope that you enjoy the story!**

 **Constructive criticism is appreciated. I would also like to offer a shoutout to whoever is the 50th follower of this story. I'll see you there!**


	6. Confusion and the Watcher

**A/N: Yet another chapter, but first, I would like to make a shoutout to Spritefire of 7 Days, who was the 50** **th** **follower of the story. Congratulations!**

 **Another reference today, this time to the story that got me into the genre, albeit a little grudgingly was** _ **Shadow of the Night**_ **by** _ **Superbun.**_ **It's a good story that is intriguing and reasonably well-written, and I much enjoyed it.**

 **For those who do not understand how the story works:**

"Human talking."

'Human thinking."

" _Dragon talking."_

" _Dragon thinking."_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD. If I did, I would promptly trash the plot of the third movie so that the dragons wouldn't disappear on us.**

 **Made while listening to Under Pressure by Queen. I should really get a new repertoire of songs… Hmm. Down on the Corner by CCR also makes it onto this list in that case.**

* * *

Gobber had always thought of mead as a drink to raise the spirits, one to inspire a sense of communion in its drinkers and to make them brawl the night away as a proper symbol of Viking entertainment.

Not now.

Gobber tipped back his empty tankard and sighed into it glumly. There wasn't a drop left for him to tease into his mouth, and the man running the counter was currently extremely busy. Why? Because nearly the entirety of the remaining menfolk in the village had turned out to debate the fate of his formerly annoying but rather helpful apprentice turned dragon, who was currently tied up in the kill ring. He wasn't liking the options, despite Hiccup's insults to him and sarcastic remarks in general.

An unexpected crash of lightning seemed to strike right next to the Great Hall and made the inhabitants jump. The storm had only grown worse and worse over the last few hours, and was now blowing like a regular hurricane of a nor'-easter. The temperature dropped noticeably, and someone tossed another bundle of wood onto the fire, which flared and crackled, eating the new material like candy.

There was another crash of lightning, almost like the clashing of cymbals, but it was farther away this time, and the men of the great hall paid it no heed. The focus of the conversation returned to the dragon, which by now the entire village had heard of by hearsay, while Gobber nursed a growing headache.

Some called for it to be killed now, while they still had the chance. There was no telling what devious tricks the beast could have pulled, and the stories of it writing in Norse from the attending guards varied widely, from interpretations that it was the sign of the Jotunn to wild theories that it was Loki himself, come to play a horrid trick on Berk (this was a rather persuasive idea due to Hiccup's clumsiness). After all, it was no surprise that the most destructive boy on the island and the builder of many devilish contraptions was Loki's instrument; and now he had come to claim his debts by turning him into a monster maniac that would annihilate everything it touched. Vikings were a superstitious lot.

Still others argued that they should keep it alive until the Chief got back from his search for the nest, he would surely know what to do. And that probably involved chopping the beast's head off himself, or at least throwing it off a cliff onto the rocky coastline that lined the shores of Berk.

A few called for it to be executed in front of the chiefs' of the other tribes, but most dismissed this viewpoint. After all, why wait for the glory to impress some faraway man from another tribe when they could kill something now?

And then there was Bucket, who advocated his opinion that they should suffocate it with an iron bucket. Obviously, no one gave him much attention, except for Mulch, who was currently trying to keep him from embarrassing himself. From the looks of it, he wasn't having much success.

But the overbearing point of this was that everybody wanted to kill the dragon in the end, and while Gobber appreciated a good dragon killing as much as anyone else, he was worried about Hiccup. Suppose the change was merely physical, and his apprentice was still in there? The dragon had certainly acted strangely, and even more intriguing, it had known how to write in Norse, something that few Vikings were skilled in and probably fewer dragons. It was a dangerous moral dilemma.

Or, and this was a scary thought, the dragon had absorbed all of Hiccup's memories when he had been transformed, and was merely using them to fool him while it plotted for a way to escape. It was a plausible theory, once you looked past all of the dark magic required to achieve such a thing. Then again, he had seen enough witchcraft in the last day or two to last a lifetime.

Gobber absentmindedly waved his drinking arm, signaling for another tankard of mead.

"Hold on just a moment." said the server, whose name was Bard. "I've got my hands full right now, sorry. Are you just going to have the usual today or are you going with something new?"

Gobber didn't have to think about it. "The usual."

Bard had known Gobber for almost twenty years, and had known for almost that time that Gobber liked his Mead heavy with no sweetener, preferably from honey collected on the southern side of the island.

"Sure. It might take a while, if you don't mind." said Bard, and almost immediately was hailed by calls for refills of their mugs. "Gotta go!"

Gobber wished that Haldric had decided to come with him then. The man was currently staying at the Hofferson family place, keeping an eye on Astrid and his many children. Having never had a child, Gobber wondered what it would be like. He scratched his stubble. Nah, it probably wasn't worth it. He didn't have the time to raise children like the others his age had. He was a blacksmith and he did his job well, but the his work didn't allow for much leisure.

While he was daydreaming, Gobber hadn't noticed Gothi seeking him out in the crowd. He didn't notice her when she started making a beeline towards him, smacking any man who got in her way with her stick. He _did_ notice her when she bopped him on the head hard enough to make his ears ring, although he didn't know who it was at first.

"OW!" he shouted. "Wha' was that for?!" He turned, ready to beat the living daylights out of the offender. And saw Gothi, standing on the bench next to him with her hickory stick poised to strike. She looked annoyed, and simultaneously, rather unimpressed. Gobber wondered how she did it.

"So what do you want?" he asked. "You certainly haven't come over here for a friendly chat, it seems." Indeed, Gothi looked drenched to the core. She glared at him. "Or out of the goodness of your heart, I might add." he said. He was immediately rewarded with a hard whack to the noggin.

"Ow." he said, slightly less angry this time. He was growing accustomed to Gothi's ways by now.

She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to follow her, presumably to a place where she could sketch out what she wanted him to do. He followed, grumbling all the way.

It was at this moment when Bard finally got back with his mug of mead. "Hey G-man, where are you going?" he asked. "I thought you wanted a drink,"

"I do," Gobber replied gruffly. "It's just that Gothi is dragging me off to who knows where so she can write something equally obscure."

Bard snorted. "I'll keep your tankard, just in case."

"That would be much appreciated." said Gobber, just before Gothi slapped him with her stick again, on the arm this time. "Alright, alright, I'm coming."

Bard chuckled as he watched Gobber hop off with Gothi, who was impatiently walking ahead of him and waiting for him to catch up. A deluge of orders besieged him, and he went back to filling up the glasses.

A few minutes and a few muffled grunts later, Gobber came back to the tables. He climbed on top of one unsteadily and pushed a trio of brawling Vikings off the bench unceremoniously, took a deep breath and shouted.

"Shut up!" Gobber yelled at the top of his voice. Immediately the din quieted a little as men accustomed themselves to the new player in this ramshackle debate. "I've got an idea."

There was a flurry of buzzed men and drunks stumbling to order themselves into some sort of manageable listening formation while Gobber tapped his foot impatiently. They were not very much successful, with only a few managing to organize themselves before he started talking.

When the turmoil had finally subsided, Gobber spoke. "Now, I know that you want to kill the dragon. And in fact, no one here enjoys dragon-killing more than I do, pardon Wisecrack here, and if that's not true than I doff my hat to the bloodthirsty bugger who has exceeded me."

The crowd murmured their agreement.

"However! There have been.. certain concerns about lopping off its head off just straightaway."

Those in favor of immediately killing the strange dragon huffed, while the others looked on with interest.

"My proposal is that we do something different. My proposal is that we should evaluate its capabilities in case we ever see any more of them. It's a frail thing, not too dangerous, and should things turn out well, we can use it for dragon training, at least until Stoick gets back. He will be the one who decides when, or if, we kill the dragon. If there are any better ideas you lot have, I'd like to hear them."

Gobber folded his arms over his chest and awaiting the inevitable torrent of questions that would follow. Sure enough, he was pelted by them. Most of them were just by buzzed villagers asking about stupid questions, like whether or not they'd have a pen in the arena ready for it - "Of course we will. What do think I am, a tenderfoot?" - or, if somebody asked if it wasn't safe to be close to - "We don't know just yet; that's why we're doing what we're doing, dummy, because we don't have enough information about this new species."

Most of the other questions were more mundane than this, and easier to answer. Then there was Mildew, who was acting like, well, Mildew. He waited for a lull in the chatter, and then launched his biting series of attacks.

"Are you trying to keep the beast alive because he is your apprentice, or because you have an allegiance to the monsters? One of the two, and don't try to lie to me boy. I am very suspicious of you, since you have worked with the false beast for so long. Perhaps you are compromised!"

All attention instantly swiveled towards the ill-tempered, sour smelling old man who seemed to make a living by being constantly cranky. Seriously, no one knew how he'd even survived this long.

In the meantime, Gobber was at a loss. He stuttered a little, took a breath, and composed himself, then put his hands (or hand, in this case), on his hips and talked in his business voice.

"Neither. In fact, the chief chose me as his right hand man because I was more impartial than anyone else. I admit that I am grieved that Hiccup is gone, but this fact does not mean that I am not still in possession of my mental faculties! Anyone here can tell you that dragons are the enemy and will kill us without hesitation. I will admit that this is a new situation for us. But as a direct descendant of Bork the Bold, I cannot pass up the opportunity to find the capabilities of this new dragon, and the ways to kill it, if necessary." Gobber said.

"Unfortunately for you and your fears, which are quite justified, I assure you, I am not involved with the dragon emotionally, at least not so much as to compromise my character."

With that Gobber jumped down from his impromptu soap box amid great exclamations and retired to the bar in short order, where Bard handed him his tankard of mead. It was at about this time that the storm, while far from blown out, appeared to die down, and the few fathers caught in the Hall when the storm hit trickled out and trudged back to their homes, leaving the more fiery younger generation and their older brethren behind.

Gobber himself decided that he would stay in the Hall until morning, and proceeded to drink seven more full tankards of mead until he finally fell asleep on the bench backwards and had to be carried to the sleeping ward by Bard.

The younger men left when the candles began to burn low, and shortly after the cook made the rounds with a snuffer and put them out for good.

It was at about this time that anyone looking into the kill ring would have seen something strange, and, if you were anything other than a Viking, fantastic.

* * *

Do you ever get the feeling that someone is trying to make your life miserable just for kicks? I've got that feeling at the moment. Why? Because I'm being taught how to walk properly by this overly excited Nadder, who's probably insane (I always hated thunderstorms, except for the relief they provided from dragon raids), who I've just learned is called Stormfly.

You may ask what this name is all about, as I did. She replied that she likes flying in storms like a maniac, because it's all in the name when it comes to dragons. If that's true, then I think I'm screwed for life. Because there is no way in hell that the other dragons, and I knew there were others, were going to take a walking joke like me sitting down.

She's not subtle at all about teaching me to walk either. I think she doesn't even know what that word means, since whenever I stumble she launches a volley of poisonous spines at me, albeit newer, less toxic ones. Unfortunately for me, that just means they're razor sharp.

I lost focus and stumbled over my front foot as I tried to fast walk around the ring. The Nadder's tail swished, as it usually did, and the unmistakable whistling noise of incoming quills filled my ears. I scrambled ahead, and three quills bounced off the ground just behind me with a _chink_ and a _spang_ , slamming into the wall just over my body and splintering into a hundred tiny pieces, some of which showered onto me like falling sand.

" _Your hind legs are dragging too much. You need to do better._ _"_ I gingerly stepped over a pair of quills that had nearly pinned my foot to the floor, then turned and glared at her with the evil eye. The storm had abated over the past few hours, and I could see her face more clearly. She had dark brownish-green eyes, so dark that if I had not had my new night-fury senses I would have thought that they were a straight black.

" _You're supposed to be helping me learn how to walk,"_ I grumbled. _"_ _Not using me as a pin cushion."_

" _I wouldn't have to if you weren't so terrible at walking. Perfect practice makes perfect. I thought you knew this already, since you're one of_ them _, but apparently not."_ She shot another quill at my behind, forcing me to jump away and break into a trot.

" _Your wings are drooping!"_ She shouted, and I ducked my body to avoid another spine that whistled overhead and cracked on the stone embankment. I kept trotting, finding it no easier than it had been before, at least until I realized I had taken nearly twenty steps without tripping over myself. With that thought, I faceplanted into the ground at nineteen.

' _Way to go Hiccup.'_ said that dreadfully annoying corner of my mind. _'_ _It seems that you've impressed the girls rather handily.'_

I growled and stood up, refusing to acknowledge my alternate. Not fast enough to avoid a flying spike, it seemed. The fast moving projectile struck my leg and lodged itself there.

" _Keep moving!"_ said Stormfly, and I flicked away the quill with my paw before lunging forward to avoid the next salvo, which skipped by just under my tail; I had learned to keep it raised from earlier painful experiences.

I made it another twelve steps before I slipped on the mud and buried my nose in the ground, flinching as a spine embedded its pointy end into the dirt just inches away from my eyeballs.

" _Will you stop that!"_ I shouted at Stormfly, who feigned a look of what passed for Draconic innocence. _"_ _Can't we do this some other way?"_

" _But this way is more fun,"_ she complained. _"_ _I enjoy preening while you walk around aimlessly."_

" _It turns out that I don't,"_ I replied, frustrated.

" _Fine, fine,"_ Stormfly said, and rolled her eyes. For a nearly one and a half ton animal, she could be quite immature at times. _"_ _You're such a spoilsport. There's another game we can play, but we need a few more people."_

I got her drift at once. _"_ _You want me to open the other cages."_ I said. It wasn't a question.

" _It seems that you have a brain in there after all."_ said Stormfly. _"_ _I was worried that the lightning strike had gotten rid of your intelligence as well as your memories."_ I did not make any comments on this subject, instead considering the potential ramifications of such a move.

" _Please?"_ the Nadder asked, and even I, a confirmed tough dude and certified Viking, found it nearly impossible to resist her fake cuteness.

" _Fine."_ I griped. _"_ _But only for a minute. I can't let them out for too long. Heck, letting you out was the biggest mistake I've ever made."_

I walked over to the cages and flicked the levers next to their cages with a careful talon, as if they were still charged. Nothing happened on the first one, or the second, and I began to feel pretty confident. Then an arcing finger of electric fire reached towards me from the third, and my heart nearly stopped. My body still ached and my scales were raw from that lightning strike.

I backed away from it as fast as I could and hurried over to the fourth cage, opening it without incident.

The first one out was a tiny Terrible Terror, who looked quite frightened at the storm and licked his nose all the time, then darted back into his cage without a word. The others came out slowly, as if they expected a sudden ambush from every shadow in the arena. These two were a Zippleback and a Gronckle. They looked around with caution, studying every shadow in the kill ring before they were satisfied and looked back to Stormfly.

" _Who'ss_ _this little pipsssqueak?"_ hissed one of the Zippleback heads. _"_ _And what iss he doing out here? For one of_ them _to be caught…. The ssituation must be dire indeed."_ said the other head.

For further reference, I do not enjoy being called a pipsqueak.

" _His name is Hiccup,"_ here the Zippleback heads both did a double take. _"_ _He lost his memories when the Scavengers smacked him too hard, at least that's my theory. It also might have something to do with the fact he got hit by a lightning bolt when he tried to get me out of my cage. I'm helping him learn to walk, but he isn't being very cooperative. Maybe you guys could help?"_

The Zippleback gave me an unimpressed look, as did the other dragons. I held my breath.

" _Fine."_ said the first Zippleback head. I decided to call him Grumps. _"_ _But only for a little while. I do not like getting my head wet."_ said the second, who I'd decided to call Grouch.

" _So,"_ said Stormfly, with a look on a face that made me want to run very far away from her very soon. _"_ _Let's play a game."_

* * *

A sleek figure watched the dragons in the arena, hidden behind the tree line. His green eyes glowed in the dark like vibrant opals as he observed everything carefully. Soon, but not yet, he thought to himself. Suddenly the opals dimmed and were gone. He was hungry, and there was no time to waste. A shadow turned and faded into the forest, leaving behind a group of dragons playing ball underneath the pouring sky.

* * *

 **A/N. So we have Meatlug, Stormfly, and Barf and Belch. What of Hookfang? I'll introduce him later, and I think I'll have different names for them than in the canon, but they may get renamed to their original ones sometime later.**

 **Tell me what you think in the review box below! Anything and everything is appreciated, but it would help if you gave me some pointers about how to improve. Keep up the good work, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **PS. Don't eat the cookies.**


	7. Training for Training

**A/N:**

 **I'm baack! Good grief I say that too often. But anyway. I went on a trip to Missouri and wasn't able to write anything, mostly because I was busy checking out the local congregations and meeting with some online friends who lived in the area. But now I'm home and ready to write for you guys.**

 **Check out the poll on my profile page if you want to help me decide what to go for in the future and also if you want to check out my other cool (or not so cool, your pick) stories!**

 **And yet another recommendation, this time to Fate of the Dragons by ReclusiveShadows. The author decided that he'd seen far too many stories where Hiccup gets turned into a dragon, so he decided to flip things around a little so that it was Astrid who got handed the short end of the stick. It hasn't been updated for ten months, but Reclusive assures me that it's not dead.**

 **What a good read.**

 **For those who do not understand how the story works:**

"Human talking."

'Human thinking."

" _Dragon talking."_

" _Dragon thinking."_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD. If I did, there would be a worldwide rebellion** **against me as people activated Operation: Waffle Freedom.**

* * *

I threw my axe with practiced, almost careless precision and watched it sail into the center of a walnut tree.

THUNK!

It hit the trunk hard and some of the bark splintered and cracked against its biting edge as the quiet morning air was shattered. A flock of crows took off and wheeled off to the west, cawing at the intruder as they went. I was the intruder. I retrieved my axe by the handle and threw again.

THUNK!

I was training for training, dragon training, and no one could get in my way, especially not the other idiots my age.

THUNK!

There was a cut off squawk, barely distinguishable from the sound of the axe hitting the tree a moment later, and a small spray of blood and bones hit the ground. Farther off, a brown mass collided with the underbrush with an audible thump.

'Figures, I thought as I trudged over the retrieve my axe, which was off my usual aiming point by almost an inch. I must've hit a bird. Probably decapitated the poor thing too. Oh well.

At least it wasn't one of the villagers. That had nearly happened before, several times, and everybody else quickly got the hint that it wasn't good for their general health to stray anywhere near the section of woods where I often practiced, for I would do so at any hour, even after dusk. Well, everyone except Ruffnut. She's already a little insane, and since she's the closest thing that I can even call a friend around here, I tolerate her, although she certainly drives me to distraction.'

THUNK!

'Then there's Tuffnut, her moron twin brother, not that she has any lack of dumb boys in her family. He's good at fighting with a bullhook and causing crazy amounts of destruction, just like his twin sister, but at least he doesn't flirt with me all the time. Either he's too dumb to understand the concept or he just doesn't care. Which brings me to Snotlout.'

I threw my axe extra hard when I so much as thought about him. In hindsight, I decided, I really need to punch him more often. He's good at stress relief, although not in that way.

 _THUNK!_

Snotlout brings a new meaning to one of my favorite maxims. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and thinking about him made me want to cut down a tree, with him standing directly under it.

THUNK! My axe practically impaled the walnut, almost to the hilt. For an heirloom weapon I'd gotten from my mother it was still pretty good. It seemed to be very well balanced and maintained for such a supposedly old thing, something that I'd always thought odd. But back to Snotlout.

But I couldn't do that, not without getting exiled for petty murder. As a Viking, I'm supposed to stand up to it, even if that means constantly having to bottle up my rage when he passes with his father, Spitelout, and save it until the chief's half-brother isn't looking and I can have a good swing at him.

I won't let him steal my glory. Ever.

THUNK! CRASH!

I had aimed for one of the lower branches this time, confident that my throw wouldn't careen off the side of the tree and ruin the handle. To my pleasure, the blade sliced straight through the bough in a straight line, but hit the tree behind it at a less than optimal angle. Still, as I ran over to it I could see that it had stuck, despite the fact that it was hanging on by only the top of its head. It looked like Hiccup had sharpened it well, despite the fact he was terrible at everything else.

Of course, Hiccup wouldn't be sharpening anything anytime soon, except for perhaps his talons. The kid had passed out day before yesterday, right in front of my very eyes. Then Gobber had taken him to Gothi's hut, and Dad had gone with him to keep an eye on the boy.

I snorted. I wasn't stupid; I knew it was all about keeping the marriage contract that they thought I wasn't aware of, something I would never submit to, not until it was my decision to make. Besides, there weren't very many potential suitors at the moment, and the ones that remained weren't exactly my best pick. I would put it off as much as I could, and hopefully I wouldn't get betrothed to anyone else in the meantime.

Well, after that the news came that Hiccup had been… changed into a dragon, or so they said, since I wasn't sure what to believe. I was lucky enough to catch sight of as it was being transported across the village. It looked almost what I thought a Night Fury might be like, except that it had no spines or calluses on it to add to the general tough aura that most dragons had. The thing struck me as almost smooth, and yet there was a deadliness about it that I just couldn't place **[1]**.

It had lines and edges that I thought I could cut myself on, but it seemed so fragile compared with the usual fare of Nadders, Gronckles and Nightmares.

THUNK! I thought I heard footsteps. The back of my neck tingled curiously. I was being observed.

I waited for a sound, but there was nothing, other than the usual forest noises and the suppressed rustling of the damp leaves as they brushed against themselves, wavered, and fell to the forest floor. There it was again. The interrupted murmurs of a person unused to the woods. I sighed, for I knew the step as well as any other. It was Ruffnut, trying to sneak up on me again. I pretended to ignore her and went back to throwing my axe.

A twig snapped, barely audible, but it broke my concentration. I looked up and my weapon veered of course, smashing into the ground at the bottom of the tree. I looked up at where the noise had come from, but saw nothing.

Soon enough, I had my axe back, and I was pounding the walnut harder than ever.

THUNK!

I had followed the dragon wagon to the arena, but I got lost in the crowd and shooed away by Gobber and my father, who was still following him around. Frustrated, I went back to the island main, where I spent the day wishing that I had some of those southern field glasses H – erm, Gobber was always talking about.

There was a sudden rush of cool wind, and a rush of leaves whirled past me before the gust died down, a remnant of the autumn storm that had turned the forest floor to sticky mush. Somehow I was still out here. I drew my arm back for another throw.

THUNK!

I was going to dragon training after all, and there was no room for hesitation. If the dragon that was Hiccup, or at least used to be Hiccup, turned out not to be Hiccup, I wouldn't have the time to contemplate over complex moral questions. If it turned out to be hostile, I would deal with it. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Hey Astrid. Bothered by something?" asked a familiar voice. Sure enough, it was Ruffnut. I turned and she was there, wearing her constantly unimpressed look and a dented helmet. "Did I surprise you? I'm practicing my stealth skills."

Of course she hadn't. I had heard her tiptoeing along in the echo of my practice a mile away, and that was what I told her.

"Spoilsport. Dragon training is in only half an hour, and it's real muddy. If we're gonna get back in time you're gonna have to go. What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Venting my frustrations," I said as I gave my axe a sizable tug. It popped out and fell into my hands, a scrap of tree bark coming along with it.

"I see." said Ruffnut, in one of her more intelligent moments. "Last one there is a rotten egg!" She yelled, and darted off into the forest towards the village.

"No fair! You got a head start _and_ I'm weighed down!" I protested, but I ran after her anyway. After all, it was good to have someone to talk to for a change.

* * *

 _'What a determined little human,'_ I thought as I watched the young villager throwing an axe. She had to be exhausted by now, practicing like that, over and over and over again. It made no sense to me, but then, I was a Dark One and far above her level.

The sharp edge of the axe sliced through a low hanging branch that fell to the ground as the gleaming blade bit into the tree behind it. It was the eleventh time the human had flung it, and she showed no signs of tiring. A determined human indeed.

I edged closer to where the glittering weapon had struck and hung to the elm by dint of the cold iron wedged into the wood, breaking a twig as I stepped. Immediately the scavenger stopped and looked up, confused, and I held my breath. It seemed this one had sharper senses than I had predicted. Thankfully another one of them was crashing through a forest in what seemed to be some pretense of stealth for their kind. Evidently the first human heard that too, for it sighed and retrieved its axe, quickly returning to its original place, where it quickly unleashed another bombardment at the unlucky oak tree.

I grinned as I watched the young female try to ignore the clumsy human closing in on her, though I could not smell its scent. The winds were erratic this season, and I could not trust my nose as much I had been able to during the summer months, when a constant breeze could sometimes blow for days.

There was a loud moving of brush and the other one stumbled into the clearing, yet another female it seemed, and one determined to give me an aching headache. They chattered to themselves for a minute, then the second ejaculated something and ran off, leaving the first one to chase after her, shouting at first and then settling into a steady fast jog that was sure to overtake her opponent.

It was a pity I couldn't understand their language yet.

I waited for several seconds until I was sure that they would not be able to see me, and followed them by their sound alone, barely exerting myself as I leaped from bough to branch over hardened stands of juniper and birch and listened to the sounds of the race.

The steady breaths of the first were beginning to overtake the second, who was now winded and losing her head start quickly. I put on a burst of speed and skirted around it, following the carrier of the heavy talon, who had now slowed her pace only slightly now that she had passed her rival.

Though I was not intimate with the layout of this particular island, I had taken the time to become familiar with the land around the dwellings and the trails that passed through its bounds. The human took one of these trails, and as I followed her I noticed something rather disturbing. She was making a beeline straight for the huge stone circle where the imprisoned dragons were kept, and more recently, the newly transformed Dark One.

I cocked an ear to listen even as I leaped from one hickory to another. The second human was also coming this way as well. Whether or not what would happen at the ring was relevant to the new dragon there was still a matter for debate, but I had a hunch, and it wasn't particularly good at the moment.

I weighed my options. On one paw, it was dangerous to let these two get away from me for fear that they bore something important. On the other, they were only younglings, even by dragon reckoning, and I worried that sticking with them would deny me the opportunity to witness what was happening around their nest and their huge dragon enclosure.

With no time to lose, I took the latter choice and left the two young scavengers far behind, shooting through the dappled trees; a sunlit blur faster than a shadow. As it turned out, I did not have to travel long to reach my destination.

Soon I could see the human village ahead through the cracks in the forest canopy, and I turned left, towards the huge arena. It was a dangerous crossing to the island on which the dragon pen lay in broad daylight, but I managed it by circling around and gliding over the smallest gap in the rocks, while the sea crashed far below.

My damaged – no, eviscerated tail kept me from flying, but short glides were fine, and a short glide was all that I needed, though it still pained me when my tail swept the ground just before I reached up and grappled the nearest branch, pulling myself up head over talon until I reached the safety and concealment of the fall limbs, still coated with their dignified late season finery.

From there it was easy, and I soon found myself near my previous hiding spot. I settled down and watched the show.

Three boys were milling about on the wooden construct that spanned the distance between their nest and the ring; a skinny one who seemed the rowdiest, a more muscular one with raven colored fur, and a larger on who seemed to stay in the background, unable or else too timid to assert himself.

The tree swayed from a low gust, an aftereffect of the recent storm, and I shifted my wings to stay upright.

A team of older men were in the ring, herding about the dragons inside with ropes and muzzles, while to the side stood a group of their superiors, at least from what I could tell. I didn't know their hierarchy yet.

As I watched they dragged the Stone-fire into one of the cages and turned a huge wooden wall towards the entrance. It slammed closed with a _boom_ , and a sturdy oak bar was dropped in front of the thing, blocking it and preventing the Stone-fire inside from breaking out. The entire setup was reinforced with iron bands to protect against the hot fire of my kind.

I had to give some credit to these villagers; they were certainly good at what they did, when they did it right, of course.

A black nose peered out of an enclosure with all the curiosity of a newborn hatchling, then jerked itself back as quickly as it had appeared. Slowly it peeked out again and looked around. It was the Dark One I had changed, and he was looking absolutely miserable.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Disclaimer; I do not own the plot of the original story, only the changes are mine.**

 **Thanks for reading this guys, you have no idea how much it means to me. Now obviously I couldn't publish this as early as I wanted to, because of a nasty cold and Thanksgiving, but nonetheless I bring this to you.**

 **If you have any complaints or would like to suggest something** **to me please leave your thoughts in the review box below! I greatly appreciate honest constructive criticism, although I distinctly frown upon nitpicking. Do your best to find any plot holes and I might just mention you in the next chapter.**

 **[1]. Look up Night Fury on DeviantArt and see the top result by beastofoblivion for a general idea of what I think Night Furies should look like. Obviously Hiccup is a bit more skinny than that, but you get the idea. The original, while good, wasted too much space on the movie aesthetic.**

 **If you made it all the way to the bottom, remember that an author always appreciates it when you read the entirety of his work.  
**

 **Made while listening to Born to be Wild and Rag Doll by Aerosmith.**

 **Cheers from Blackberry Avar!**

 **Changelog:**

 **May 8th, 2019. Changed any references to 'scavengers' to 'humans', and accounted for Toothless's human knowledge in general to fit in line with his backstory by altering the words he uses to describe things. Old readers will definitely notice the difference.**


	8. Interim

**A/N: Caution; this Author's Note was written three weeks ago and it's somewhat dated.  
**

 **It has been some time since I've last updated, but I can now assure you that I've created a regular schedule. It goes somewhat like this. I'm playing Battle for Wesnoth when suddenly I wonder how long it's been since I've last updated. Sigh. I check my Fanfiction account… Wait! Three weeks! Arrgh, I need to get to work.**

 **And there you go. My new writing schedule. But in reality it's turned out to be a tough time for my writing seeing that my exams are happening and I'm having to cram like crazy because I've procrastinated on this very website - and also Steam games, but I find it more fun to blame all my problems on those pesky, interesting fanfictions that I can't keep myself away from, so there's that.**

 **Happy holidays! I know that it's rather late to be saying this but I hope you guys had a great Thanksgiving and didn't nearly kill yourselves from eating too much pie. What do the British do for that particular American holiday? I know that I have some British viewers so by all means I would like to hear something from you guys.**

 **For those who do not understand how the story works:**

"Human talking."

'Human thinking."

" _Dragon talking."_

" _Dragon thinking."_

 **Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this again? Fine fine fine. I do not own HTTYD or any of its many characters, only my ideas (some of which were technically borrowed from I am a nightfury, but that gets into a whole nother _league_ of complicated), and my original writing. Everything else belongs to the wonderful folks at Dreamworks who inspired my ideas and the ideas of others who continue to create wonderful fanfiction on this site. God bless you all!**

* * *

Some things never change. It only takes one moment to turn your entire life upside down, one moment to destroy all that you hold dear; your friends, your inventions, your family. Everything. Suddenly my only friend held my life in his hands, and my enemies were now my confused allies. No matter how much the world shifted around me, one thing I could always be sure of was that it rained cats and dogs just when a downpour was least convenient, in this case, literally.

And so it was that my life had changed in what had seemed an age but was now like a heartbeat. Ever since I had taken my first tottering steps as a baby and fallen flat on my face, I always tripped over my own legs when I needed to be at my best; as a viking, I had failed. Now, I had to learn how to walk again within my new body, and I was as useless as I had been all those years ago.

I was the unluckiest Viking that had ever existed, I thought to myself, and that was without counting my sarcastic side, which made fun of me every chance that it could.

As a result of my clumsiness, I became the village outcast, and as the village outcast, I was deprived of what I wanted most; respect. No one respected me enough to hear what I had to say, and when they did listen, it was always during the worst times, when I fumbled the most or, when I had reached the peak of despair, could not bring myself to speak with the rest of my brethren. So I was scorned among my own people.

And so it came to pass that I sought to kill dragons, not because of anything personal that I held against them, but simply to earn esteem in the eyes of my tribe.

I was not skilled enough to wield a sword, nor strong enough to swing a hammer, and so my combat experience was limited to lunging after the Terrors that skittered about during raids. When I realized that the way I was trying to kill them wasn't working, I invented elaborate traps and devices to snare them, but they were too slippery, and they always got away, if I could even catch them.

When I saw that I could not kill smaller dragons, my heart dreamed of the bigger ones - idiotic, I know, but then I was naive. A Nadder perhaps, or a Gronckle to start my career as a slayer of monsters and demons. I created mechanisms; giant nets coated in serrated teeth that would rip apart a dragon's hide, large ballistas shooting iron tipped bolts, razor throwers and spike pits. It all turned out to be a waste of good metal that could be used for other things, and Gobber halted my advances in that field for fear I would deplete the island of the very stuff needed to repair its arms.

So I turned to wooden bola launchers and spent arduous hours poring over eastern texts, seeking to learn from their works and then to replicate their weaponry. And in one shot, it paid off. If only someone else had seen it, then maybe I wouldn't have gone into the forest alone, perhaps I would have been able to kill the Night Fury. My life would have become very different from what it was, and I would have been catapulted from the bottom of the ranks to the top of the teenage pack, at least for a short while.

But I was not fit for the task at hand. Indeed, I had cut it free from the ropes which bound it. And how had it paid me for allowing it it's liberty? With this.

I raised a black paw and groaned. Dawn came lately to the north in the cold scandanavian fall, and it was just beginning to break over the eastern horizon, a soft, beaming glow that pierced through the haze of the departing thunderstorm and cast a dark blue light on the wet stone of the arena. The rain had stopped during the early morning, but several wispy clouds still remained, their bases glowing a dark purple that lightened slowly to shades of glimmering indigo and deep pink as I watched; bands of windblown color that lit up the western sky.

It still bothered me, how much my senses had improved now that I was a dragon. The most minute changes in the tone of sounds and the moods of colors now stuck out to me, and my sense of smell was so acute that I had trouble even naming the dozens of scents that now assailed my nose. Right now the air was mostly filled by the aroma of delicious earth, followed closely by the lurking odor of dragon dung.

Another thing that I wasn't excited about; going to the outhouse, or whatever dragons did. I wasn't in a hurry to see.

I groaned again, still dazed, and rolled over until the ground was at least beneath my talons again. Mud squelched between my toes and I realized for the first time that I felt dirty. There was sand in my scales and dirt crusted over the prongs of my ears. I tried to find the muscles that wiggled them, and failing that, shook my head with a wet slapping sound as the small flaps that lined my new skull hit my skin with a stinging sensation. I ignored it and struggled onto my feet, my tail dragging as I went.

Passed out on the ground in front of me were three – no, four dragons; a Nadder, a Gronckle, a Zippleback, a Terrible Terror and a bent wooden shield with a floral pattern on it. I couldn't help but grin as the memories of the night before came to me. I hadn't gone near the Nightmare's cage after I discovered that it was still charged. Stormfly, however, had no such qualms. She tried to pull the lever with her foot and got struck by a bolt of lightning in the toes. She jerked and went flying across the arena and almost into the far wall, it was so powerful, and nearly destroyed the shield.

She was fine and was able to get up on her own, refusing all aid and swearing more profusely than a tipsy sailor as she recovered, the intensity of which I hate to remember.

After that nobody tried to open the gate, least of all myself, and we all gave it a wide berth, something which the Nightmare inside did not appreciate. He didn't hesitate to tell us about it either. But eventually he too had fallen asleep, and I quickly followed his example once his complaining no longer messed with my sleep cycle.

The ground beneath my talons grew lighter, and light gleamed off the iron chains that arched over the top of the kill ring to prevent dragons from escaping. It was always a pain to scrub the rust off when there was a heavy rain, I noted, and Gobber was going to have his hands full now that he didn't have me to do it for him. Normally the entire thing would be greased with wool wax, but it could sometimes be washed away or torched by errant dragon fire. Then I would have to go cling to the links with a jar of grease slung over my shoulder and lubricate the metal with the buttery mixture, hoping against hope that my clumsiness wouldn't get me killed. Gobber called it climbing practice; I called it a panic attack.

I walked over to the Gronckle, a sharp pain biting my shoulder with every step. It turned out that newly formed Nadder spikes still hurt, even if they weren't poisonous, and I'd been hit too many times to remember the night before. Not to mention all the times I'd been clocked with a tail because some of the bigger dragons hadn't watched their step.

Yet another thing that was vexing about my new body; I hadn't gotten any bigger. In fact, from my point of view it was as if I had shrunk, since my head was so close to the ground now. I was about as long as I had been before the change if I had laid down, but I was thinner and more drawn, if that was even possible, because of the flesh that had gone to support my parchment thin wings.

No matter where I went or what I became, I always ended up as a runt. Still, maybe I shouldn't be too worried. This was my first experience with such trickery after all. 'And it might be your last,' said the negative corner of my brain. That was a worrying possibility, one that I couldn't afford to ignore. But for now I would enjoy the morning and make plans before the others woke up. Case in point; Stormfly. She was noisy as all helheim and would wake up the villagers if nothing else would. I needed to keep her asleep.

I struck out along the outside wall to stretch my legs, keeping to the perimeter to avoid tripping and falling on one of the prone dragons that laid limply on the floor of the arena. My wings flared and I took deep breaths of fresh air, proud to note that it had been almost fifty steps since I'd started and I hadn't even stumbled.

And with that thought one of my feet hit a stone at just the wrong angle and I lurched before losing my balance and tumbling to the dirt in a heap. It wasn't one of my best landings, but it wasn't my worst either, and I quickly picked myself up and brushed off the sandy grains that had tried to work their way into my newfound scales. My sarcastic side stayed strangely silent.

I made five laps around the ring to get my blood flowing, then took a rest. A chickadee clucked in the forest and was answered by a wren. The sun would be over the horizon now, I thought; the thin line of cyan creeping up from the east had become a shallow bowl tinged with yellow and littered with dusky wisps.

My tail brushed a cold pool of water and I jerked it back without even thinking.

It was the perfect time for ideas. So why did I feel like I didn't have any?

I had to escape, but going about it was a different matter. I knew how to open the arena's portcullis, on parchment. I had never been strong enough to lift the heavy iron-reinforced gate and I probably couldn't yet in practice, so that was out. Besides, it would make way too much noise, especially for sensitive ears such as Stormfly's.

I could try using the emergency winch which Gobber and I had installed for such crises, but there was the problem of my new paws. I might be strong enough in my new form, but I didn't know if I could grip the handle, and there was always the problem of how loud it would be.

If I could pull myself up to the top of the arena I could slip out of a gap in the chains, but the problem was getting there. My new talons were sharp, but they weren't sharp enough to puncture hard shale, and I couldn't fly.

And then there was the food problem. I hadn't had so much as a morsel since before I'd passed out on the village green the day before yesterday. Or was it the day before the day before yesterday? I wasn't quite sure. What I did know was that I was beyond famished. It was a miracle I could still walk, and that I attributed to my new body. The old me would've collapsed from hunger by now.

If my reckoning was correct, it also happened to be a Monday, and bad things always happened on Mondays.

There were other options but none of them looked particularly appetizing.

I could stay here and wait to see if sympathy and my relationship with Gobber would get me out, but to depend solely on trust seemed foolish even to me, although what the Gothi had said still resonated in my brain.

I could blast my way out, assuming that I was lucky and my small body was able to project the trademark Night Fury fireball, but being able to belch a blazing purple bolt on my second day of dragondom seemed farfetched.

And what would I do once I had escaped? – assuming I was able to. I didn't know how to fly, I didn't know how to hunt, I didn't know how to do anything except how to be myself as a normal person - 'and you fail spectacularly at even that' said the little sarcastic voice. I sighed. It looked like my alternate personality had woken up from its little nap. My day had just gotten even worse, and it wasn't even midmorning yet.

Without outside help, I had little chance to survive. It was a sobering thought, but it was the truth.

That didn't stop me from trying to scramble up the walls.

As I had suspected, my claws weren't sharp enough to get a foothold on the hard slate, and every time I tried to haul myself up I fell to the floor with a screeching noise that made my ears feel like they had been put through a grinder and Stormfly twitch in her sleep. Seeing this, I quit my climbing exercises in short order.

A chilly fall breeze washed over my snout and red autumn leaves fluttered into the ring. The Zippleback groaned and the Gronckle muttered to herself.

Was there anyone who would help me? Certainly not these lot. After all, they were the enemy, or at least they had been before this confusing business. Suddenly I remembered the Night Fury who had changed me in the first place. Had it – he, been able to fly? I couldn't tell.

" _Someday you will thank me for this."_ he had said.

I snorted. Yeah right. Five days later I was stuck in this form and having the worst experience of my life. If the bastard thought I would _thank_ him for my predicament he was sorely mistaken.

The sky had reached the height of it's morning brilliance some minutes ago, and now the reds and yellows were turning into shades of light blue as the sun rose over the horizon. The dragons on the ground stirred and I knew I didn't have much time left; going by the birds, they would be awake in ten minutes at best, less if they were sensitive sleepers.

I glanced at the center of the ring as I thought this and saw the mangled wreckage of the dragon cart. How had I forgotten about that? As soon as the villagers saw that I had escaped from my cage there would be almost no mercy for me. We Vikings were a superstitious lot and I wouldn't be surprised if I had been named a servant of Loki by now.

But first, I needed some food.

It so happens that the stuff we serve our dragons is distinctly horrible. As in 'fish with bloody guts that are rotting out of its slimy body' horrible. It's not like our captives are honored guests, far from it, and I wasn't expecting cooked food, but this was worse than I had ever imagined.

It wasn't hard to get a sample of the stuff; all I had to do was step into Stormfly's pen and follow the smell, not that I wanted to breathe it in. Every three days some unfortunate would carry buckets of bycatch to the arena and dump the stuff into the cages through a thick slot in the door. The reason I knew this was because I'd often been the unlucky boy who'd been chosen for the job.

As a human I could've held my nose and I would've been fine, but this wasn't possible for Night Furies. And you guessed it, dragons have an acute sense of smell.

I poked at the fish with a talon. It squished and bodily fluids spurted out. As if the world wasn't ironic enough, the fish was a haddock. No wonder the arena dragons got sick so much. The day I ate seafood like this was the day before I would die of starvation. Hopefully it never came to that.

My options were looking rather bleak.

' _What an understatement.'_ said the sarcastic corner of my mind. _'_ _The world as you know it has been turned upside down;_ _the least you could do is give me some drama here.'_

I sighed. Dealing with my newfound problems was quite enough without going crazy as well. It looked like my brain had decided that what I was going through wasn't enough and I needed some good old fashioned insanity on the side.

For a figment of my imagination my sarcastic side had an interesting character. And since when had it started using the word 'me'?

' _The same goes for you too buddy. From my point of_ _view_ you _might as well be the imaginary_ _one_ _and I'm the_ _guy_ _who's going insane.'_

' _This is ridiculous,'_ I thought. _'I'm just not going to pay attention to you_ _and_ _hopefully you'll go away_ _in a minute and_ _then_ _I won't have to_ _cope with this nonsense.'_

' _The chance of that happening is_ _about the same as_ _the_ _chance of the world ending in the next five minutes. Forget it.'_

' _We'll see.'_

I gave up on prodding the fish and wiped off my talon in the dirt, almost expecting mud to get in my fingernails. It was only then that I realized that Night Furies didn't have any of those. It was funny how the little things got me when I should've been focused on the bigger painting.

The gronckle who I still didn't have a name for rolled over, yawned, then stretched. Dawn was drawing to an end, and so was my time alone.

It so happened that the zippleback woke up first; raising its heads with a hissing noise as it twisted its necks and tail around in a way that made me quite dizzy and would probably break my spine if I tried to imitate it. I'd named one head Grumps and the other Grouch, but even in the daylight I couldn't tell which was which. From what I remembered the sparky one was Grouch but the difference was superficial. Both of them were rather ill-tempered.

If I had to live in one of those cages for a month I would be snappy too. Stormfly's cheery disposition was a miracle.

' _Not enough of a miracle to get you out of here, apparently.'_ said a voice in my head which was fast becoming annoyingly familiar. I ignored it.

When the zippleback had finished with its morning gymnastics it set off at a trot around the ring to stretch its legs, even flew around a little, although it was mostly gliding. It was a majestic sight, when you weren't running for your life. Drawing dragons had always been a hobby of mine, and I had risked my life more than once just to get a glimpse of the creatures in action. I still had a few burn marks from that.

Or did I? Maybe the transformation had erased my scars like it had done to my skeletal structure. Now that had been painful. I walked over to a puddle and looked into it. There were plenty of those pooling on the ground after last night's heavy rain.

The water rippled because of the wholesome breeze and my reflection seemed to move against the tiny waves. It was the first time I'd seen my face since before the change, even before Dad had left on another one of his hunts for the infernal dragon nest.

I looked like a smaller, paler version of a Night Fury. My scales weren't black, per say, although maybe that was just my new vision talking. Instead they were a very dark gray with a slight blue tinge that I could barely see.

Above me a tiny cloud floated in the giant blue sky; the horizon still harboring a reddish glow.

I had two nostrils – nothing special there, and a round nose that I can only describe as a snout covered in round, flinty scales just smaller than a small coin from a foreign mint.

Six ridges ran up the top of my head. I was almost tempted to call them spines except for the fact that they looked nothing like Nadder quills but instead were almost the point of a broadsword in shape. They were hard in appearance and I was fairly sure that they were made out of bone.

I had two large ears, almost like a jackrabbit's long organs but with the ear canal turned inwards, and a sort of black skin covered them entirely. Besides those I counted six earlets and four fleshy stubs attached to the back of my roughly triangular skull.

A narrow chest and translucent wings made up my body; my legs were thin and spindly, ending in four toed paws that resembled a cat's foot when all its claws were out.

It was an utterly alien appearance to me, even without the eyes. The pupils were completely black, even to the point of being without reflection. A thin yellow band wrapped around the pupils and faded out to a lime color until it reached the edge of the eyes, where it became a dark green rim around them. Around my eyes, I realized.

I looked nothing like the clumsy kid I had been just five days ago, half frightened to death from my first encounter with a Night Fury. There was a very good chance that I would never go back to that life again. And to think I had wished for change. How naive of me.

" _You look glum, pipsssqueak. Why are you_ _staring into_ _that puddle?"_ said a voice next to my ears.

" _I'm not a pipsqueak."_ I said, still watching my reflection in the pool. The green scales of a Zippleback towered over me, rippling in the water. _"_ _And since when did you care?"_

" _You need to focus_ _s_ _if you want to go home, Dark One._ _Do_ _not_ _mope around like_ _s_ _some_ _half-wit_ _ted Stone-fire_ _."_ retorted the Zippleback, both heads talking nearly at once when they were angry. It was a stereo rasp that hurt my ears.

" _Which home are you talking about?"_ I asked, ignoring the jab at my character. _"_ _I don't have_ _one._ _I have no_ _food, little water, almost no shelter,_ _and I've been kicked out by my own people_ _because_ _of some stupid dragon with an ego problem. I don't_ have _a place to stay_ _!_ _"_

He made a long string of rasping and hissing sounds that I couldn't understand.

 _"Were you trying to talk to me, or did something get stuck in your throat on the way up?"_ I asked, frustrated.

 _"You do not know the language?"_ asked one head. I think it was Grumps. _"Very well, hatchling._ _The nes_ _s_ _t is_ _s_ _your home,_ _yet you refuse to_ _ssee_ _it._ _Y_ _ou are a Dark One, yet you_ _do not_ _know your heritage._ _Your presence_ _iss sstrange;_ _no one knowss how you have come here,_ _or why._ _Even your name iss_ _confusing."_

" _I already told you_ _how I got here, but you_ _aren't_ _listening."_ I looked up from the pool, and for the first time I saw how massive a Zippleback was up close, even compared to a Nadder. _"_ _I don't know who these Dark Ones are or where they come from,_ _I'm telling you. I didn't even know dragons could_ talk _until_ _yesterday evening."_

" _Your s_ _st_ _ory is_ _s_ _as ridiculous_ _ss_ _a_ _s_ _it i_ _s_ _s untrue,_ _though you_ _may_ _believe it to be correct."_ said one of the heads. Definitely Grumps.

" _The reason I believe that I'm right is because I know what happened to me!"_ I said, almost shouting now.

Grouch looked like he wanted to say something but Grumps butted in again. Perhaps the two heads had different personalities? _"_ _Hush. The others awaken."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I decided that the method I was using for the previous chapters felt too much like plagiarism, so I did something different this time.**

 **Check out the** **new polls** **I have on my profile – yes, polls, I added** **some** **–** **and vote** **on what you'd like to see for Trust is Earned** **in the future.** **I still haven't figured out** **exactly how** **polls work yet and so one or more of them might not show up, and I would greatly** **like** **some help with that** **since I'm still relatively new to the site.**

 **Can you have more than** **a single** **poll on your bio or are you restricted to** **only one?**

 **I appreciate compliments and constructive criticism, and the review box is down below for just such a purpose.** **Please tell me your thoughts! I would prefer not to end up writing a cliché any more than I already am, if I can help it.** **I need feedback to help make my stories good,** **and** **what you** **guys** **point out can definitely make a difference.**

 **Next up – Dragon Training. I hope you're all excited for this, because I'm pooped from exams and I'm not looking forward to writing the first parts of this coming up. I've had to stay up later than I would usually to get this done, so I definitely hope you enjoyed it.  
**

 **Cheers! See you next time. B. Avar, over and out.**

 **Edit, May 26th 2019: It's official. I am the biggest fool in the universe. For two _months_ this chapter was actually a chapter from Stranded (my other big fic) and I didn't even notice. It's fixed now, but I'm sure you guys are having a lark. **


	9. In The Arena - Part I

**A/N:**

 **IMPORTANT.**

 **Hey guys. It's been a long time since my last update, I know, but I've cobbled together a roughly 12K chapter over the last few months. Since it would be a huge pain to read all on its own and I haven't actually finished it yet I've decided to release it in three parts, the first of which you're reading right now. The next part of the story will come out on Wednesday afternoon, and then it might be about a week until I get my muse together and release the last part. It depends. Just remember that another update is guaranteed.**

 **Big thanks to all of you who've supported this story from the start. A Lurker, Dragon Rider's Fury, Ryavrel, obliviousbushtit, Fus Do Ruh, Sorna-Raptor, Spritefire of 7 Days, BlueMonica, Pitch'snieceanddaugherofMew, Kuzi19, Dantae the Nightfury, Massive HTTYD Fan, Aren serathy, ChameleonNinja812, Hydroknight505, VigoGrimborne, and last but not least, Anonymous Noob the 2nd; I owe you all a favor.**

 **I'd like to make a shoutout to obliviousbushtit in particular. He's been a good friend of mine ever since he's joined the community; I think he writes good stories and he has an interesting writing style. This shoutout was totally unsolicited and should come as a big surprise to him.**

* * *

I poked my head out the wooden door and wished I hadn't. A score of my fellow vikings were herding three dragons into their cages with ropes, shields and spears; as I watched a ruddy-faced man threw a bola underhand at the retreating Gronckle. It tumbled through the air and hit its target, wrapping around the Gronckle's legs like a spinning vine.

' _You still don't have a name for that one yet."_ said a voice in my head. _"_ _I think it's a girl. Gargantua seems like a nice name, don't you think?'_ It was my sarcastic side.

I snorted. _'_ _Obviously you don't know the first thing about names, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation. I know Vikings have terrible naming conventions, but even my_ dad _wouldn't name someone_ that _.'_

' _I would agree with you, except for the fact that there's a guy called Bucket in this village.'_

I drew my wings closer to my chest without thinking about it; from what I knew by now, it meant I was annoyed. _"_ _There's a reason for that."_

' _Yeah yeah yeah. Half of his head got ripped off or whatever. But his caretaker is named Mulch!'_

I kicked the dirt with a paw and sighed, admitting defeat. _'_ _You might have a point, but it's really me that has a point since you're imaginary. As your dragon-in-charge for life, I order you to shut up, preferably for a long time.'_

' _Keep on_ _dreaming, buddy.'_ said my sarcastic side, but it withdrew anyway.

A Viking looked in my direction and I pulled back, smelling the stench of dragon dung. At least it was better with the door open a crack; I hated to think what it would be like without that refreshing draft.

When I dared to look out again they'd dragged the Gronckle into a cage on the opposite side of the ring, while six Vikings were wrestling down the Zippleback. A seventh Viking was dangling from Grumps' head, trying to put a muzzle on him while he was shaken like a leaf in the wind, barely able to hold on.

Stormfly was putting up a fit, but they already had her wings tied up, and without them she couldn't go very far.

I'd told those dumb dragons that they needed to be back in their cages by early morning or else this would happen, but some people – by which I mean Stormfly, don't like being bossed around by tiny dragons a fifth of their size, even if I was 'one of _them_ '. It was an insult to her pride and she wouldn't even consider my advice.

' _That might have something to do with the fact you sound insane to them, or it might not. You might want to take a different approach.'_ said a familiar voice.

I started, although I wasn't surprised that it was back so soon. _'_ _Am I actually offering myself advice?'_

' _Yup. Although I prefer to be called my own person, thank you very much.'_

' _This is getting stranger_ _by the minute.'_ I thought to myself.

Well, anyway, I wasn't the one making the demands, Stormfly was. She'd asked me if I knew how to relay signals to an amplifier directionally. Since we just happened to be stuck in the eleventh century, I had no idea what she was talking about.

" _Oh come on, you can't be this useless,"_ she'd said when she realized that I wasn't exactly the pinnacle of helpful disposition. Boy, did that sting.

That put me in a rather miserable and horrible mood, and I sulked around until the men came, thumping along the bridge like a bunch of rowdy yaks. I could hear them coming from miles away, of course, what with my powerful ears, and I'd asked Stormfly if she heard it too.

She said she didn't. Besides, who would attack us, she asked, since we had dragon power on our side. I rolled my eyes then. Obviously she didn't know Vikings, or she wouldn't of been so foolish. But she was, and at roughly thirty minutes to eleven the cavalry arrived and promptly set to work **[1]** , whereupon I promptly ducked into one of the open dragon doors and hid myself. I dunno why they were so late; maybe it took them more time than I'd expected to clean up the wreckage from the storm.

They must've been pretty confused, seeing that I was gone, a broken cart in the place where I had been and three dragons roaming around the arena. I heard the shouts of the young firebrands and the murmuring of the older men. How had the dragons escaped their cages, they wondered. How had I escaped from my cart?

Shoot. I was supposed to be in that thing. Now there was no telling what they'd think, and I couldn't just waltz out there and strap myself into the wagon, partially because it was broken and partially because that would be suicide. Besides, I was never wearing a muzzle ever again.

I peered out the door again just from curiousity. They'd pushed Gripe – I needed a name to refer to the whole Zippleback, not just his heads, into his own enclosure, and the Gronckle too. That left Stormfly. She kicked like a wildcat and blew gouts of fire at the men trying to herd her back, but Vikings aren't easily daunted, and before long they almost had her inside the door and were about to slam it shut, locking her inside.

Wait a second. The cage they were putting her into was the one I was in. Double shoot. I wasn't excited to spend time with Stormfly. Just the opposite in fact. I pressed myself against the gritty rock wall as the blue Nadder squeezed by, snarling like an enraged bear. One last, searing stream of fire and the doors shut with a boom, only a smidgen of light coming from the crack between the wall and the bottom of the door. Outside I could hear men barricading the threshold with wooden crossbeams.

We were locked in, at least there was a lull in the action and I could escape this smelly place. I hadn't forgotten that handy escape lever; and I planned to slip out at nightfall, when the cover of darkness would protect me from any possible guards. For a moment I allowed myself to feel a little proud. I'd pulled a nice disappearing act on those Vikings, and they hadn't seen a thing.

' _You do realize that's a dumb idea, right. Your absence will just make them search for you harder and it'll encourage bad rumors. Brilliant._ _'_ said my sarcastic side, who still didn't have a name. _'_ _And by the way, I can hear what you're thinking._ _I'm working on a good catchphrase, just you wait.'_

' _Catchphrase?'_ I asked. _'_ _What's that supposed to be? Am I supposed to catch you with it?_ _'_

' _No, idiot.'_

I was coming up with a witty comeback to this when my sarcastic side said something else.

' _Watch out for Stormfly.'_

Oof. That Nadder must've weighed more than a ton. She mustn't have seen me in the nearly pitch-black cage and sat on me by accident.

But instead of focusing on the plight of our dear Hiccup _"_ _Hey! I object to your condescending terms!"_ , ahem, but instead of focusing on the plight of our dear Hiccup _"_ _Where did you come from anyway! How did you get in my head!_ _"_ \- I'm the narrator of this story, thank you very much, and I need to get on with this. I'm a McGuffin device, if that answers your question _"_ _No it doesn't. What's a McGuffin device?"_. But instead of focusing on Hiccup's plight _"_ _Better, but still not great._ _"_ \- where we will not learn very much of importance, since he is currently indisposed at the moment, we must rather travel to the perspective of an infamous pair of twins.

* * *

Tuffnut twirled his billhook with his right hand as he habitually fidgeted with his left. It was almost noon and his sister still wasn't here, which was strange because she was always buzzing around like an annoying fly joined to him at the hip with the world's strongest cord, which meant she'd gone to check up on Astrid, since she wasn't here either, which was also unusual because Astrid never missed stuff like this. He knew Ruffnut like the back of his hand, and he'd known the instant she had slipped away to the forest.

He leaned over the railing of the bridge and put down his waterskin, bored out of his mind, noticed instantly the way the breakers rose and crashed onto the sheer headlands, saw the way the pigeons wheeled over the rocks, preparing for their fall migration. He'd been here before. Suddenly a black shadow flitted across the gap between the two islands in his peripheral vision, swept over the ground and disappeared up a tree. If he'd blinked he wouldn't have seen it – as it was he nearly missed his chance, and he watched that spot again, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was, but there was only the rippling lime grass, taunting him as it rolled in the wind.

"Hey Tuff," said Snotlout, coming up beside him and looking over the horizon. "You look like something's eating you."

The male twin dropped his eyes to the ocean, didn't bother turning for eye contact. "Ruff's not back yet." he said, stating the obvious.

"Oh. Astrid isn't back yet either. Someday she's going to recognize my obvious strength" - here he flexed his biceps - "and flirt with me for once."

"Good luck. You'll need it unless you want a broken nose."

"Pfft. You're just underestimating me. They all do." said Snotlout, picking his nose. "Imagine it. I, Snotlout, son of Spitelout, chief of the village. And the lovely Astrid will be my wife. How does that sound?"

Tuffnut snorted and rolled his eyes. "It sounds like mass suicide."

"Suicide for the dragons that is." boasted Snotlout. He hadn't gotten the hint.

Tuff ignored him and gazed pointedly at a bush on the mainland, tuning out Snotlout entirely. The big teenager was fun to prank, yes, and he was also good company, but he was more boring than a snail. At least you could scare people with snails since they were so slimy, but Snotlout was just about useless when he started talking about Astrid.

And besides, there were far more exciting things in the world. Like that shadow he'd glimpsed gliding over the channel, or the porpoises playing in the ocean, or the pigeons wheeling about the rocks preparing for their fall migrations – okay, maybe that last one was a bit of a stretch. And on top of all that was the fact that dragon training was beginning soon, just after the grownups cleared the arena of those dragons that had somehow escaped their cages. And when that happened, he would win, he was sure of it.

He looked at his billhook and grinned. Sure, it was an old weapon, sure, it was still rusty, sure, it was nothing compared to a poleaxe or even a polearm. But it had the most wickedly sharp edge he'd ever seen or experienced, and simply nicking himself with it had given him a bad case of lockjaw for two weeks. That was why he loved it so much, he thought. It took his spirit of glorious destruction and concentrated it into an edge almost more lethal than himself, which was impressive considering the fact that he was the world's deadliest weapon.

In the end it was almost noon before Astrid joined them, Ruffnut not far behind, despite the fact that Astrid was carrying her heavy axe slung over her back and looked almost winded.

"Hey babe," said Snotlout, and Ruff laughed. "You look better when you're sweaty. I think I look better when I'm sweaty. Do you?"

Astrid scowled a scowl that would've made a grown man hesitate, but Snotlout remained oblivious and stepped towards the shield-maiden in training, whereupon Tuffnut tripped him and the larger teen went down in a heap. Yes, Snotlout was fun to prank.

He came up in a splutter, demanding to know who was so heinous as to give him the trip. Nobody told him, but then, that might have had something to do with the fact that Gobber was walking towards them with Haldric in tow, both of them wearing a poker face with the tiniest hint of a smile. So they _had_ managed to get those overgrown reptiles in their pens, and just in time too, for the sun was at its highest point. Noon.

"Well, this is the moment you've all been waiting for," said the smith. "Welcome to dragon training."

He turned and started jogging back to the arena, and when nobody followed him he called out, "Hustle! Hustle! I hope yeh sorry lot don't think yeh can train yerselves. Hustle!"

The group fell into a line in the usual order, Astrid first, followed by Snotlout (who was _probably_ ogling her), the twins, who were almost impossible to tell apart when they fought, which was exactly what was happening, and last of all, Fishlegs. Between punches Tuffnut wondered why Hiccup wasn't tagging along behind them, but then his sister slugged him in the guts and of course he had to return the favor, and then he had to watch for Fishleg's heavy feet as the bigger teen stepped over him, and then…

As they descended into the pit Haldric pulled Astrid aside.

"Good luck." he said, and kissed her on the cheek. Then they passed under the gate and into the ring.

"Ruffnut! Tuffnut! Quit fighting or I'll have you scrubbing the dragon pens on your hands and knees!" This was not an idle threat, and the twins shot away from their other halves like two magnets when you try to put them together at the wrong ends and then let go.

"He started it!" yelled Ruff, and almost at the same time she made strawberry noises at her brother.

"Started it! Why you little -"

"I said quit," broke in Gobber, and that was that, at least for the next few minutes, though Tuffnut discovered a piece of muck on the floor and threw it into the neck of Snotlout's shirt (a perfect throw, if he did say so himself), and the glob squelched and fell down on Snot's back and hopefully his underwear and beyond.

"Hey!" said Snot, and turned around so he could slug the perp who done it, but Tuff ducked behind Fishlegs at the last moment so that Snot couldn't see him and all the older (and dumber) teen could do was fume.

"Quiet!" said Gobber, who'd been discussing something to do with dragons and didn't like to be interrupted. "Some of us are trying to pay attention here."

He gave Snotlout a pointed look just because Tuff wasn't there for him to give pointed looks at, and went back to explaining all the dangers of dragons and their poisonous fangs and razor-sharp spines and searing firebreath and lashing tails that could kill a dozen Vikings at once – but that last is an exaggeration. Tuffnut thought he was in heaven.

" - the Hideous Zippleback can destroy whole houses with a single explosion of their choking gas – a Monstrous Nightmares bodily flame can barbecue sausages from fifty feet – all dragons are extremely dangerous and yeh should not attempt teh kill one until – Even Terrible Terrors can be lethal when they form packs – don't get barbecued on yer first day, it's bad for the business," - wait, what?

"Am I clear?" asked Gobber.

"Crystal." said Astrid, followed by all the other guys – Tuff was proud to note that he spoke more quickly than his sister and so finished his sentence faster.

"Good," said the smith. "Now. We're not going to be fighting dragons right away. That would be stupid. In fact, we're going to be doing the exact opposite. Today we're going to be fighting with our _weapons._ I know most of yeh think yeh're good with yer weapon of choice."

Gobber stared each and every one of them in the eyes as intimidatingly as a two-limbed smith with arthritis could, and Tuff had to admit that despite his manly resistance to intimidation it was pretty scary, even for him, while Fishlegs practically cowered in a very unviking-like way.

"Well," began Gobber. "The fact is, yeh're not. Four out of yeh five are basketcases, and Astrid is passable."

Snotlout slumped and Astrid looked confused, as if she wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or a complement.

"I don't expect yeh to be good with the spear overnight, or the hammer, or the halberd or the bola or whatnot, but I do expect yeh to be able to defend yerselves. If yeh don't have a weapon, go get one."

He waved towards the racks, where a motley assortment of killing blades attached to sticks were sitting on iron hooks. Ruffnut was the only one who needed arms, and she picked a spear (a close relative of the billhook), which was predictable because she always liked to do what he did. She bounded back to the group and tried to fake being competent, holding the spear in what she thought was a ready stance but was really quite awkward, and Tuff supressed a sigh, mostly because if he sighed then she would punch him and there would go the rest of his afternoon, wasted in the dragon pens. Ruff always had been more of a poleaxe girl, and it showed.

"Good. Find yerselves sparring partners. It'll be important later."

There was a scuffle as Snot tried his luck at getting over to Astrid and Astrid picked Ruff instead. Of course, Tuffnut couldn't resist giving Snotlout the trip again, but this time Snotlout saw who'd done it and chased Tuffnut around the group while Fish just looked confused. A glare from the smith made them settle down, with Ruffnut paired with Astrid and Snotlout tied up in a knot with Tuff – Gobber just assumed that meant they were partners, and Fishlegs paired with, well, nobody.

"We're missing someone for Fishlegs. Tuffnut, yeh're with him for the second half of practice. I'll handle it until then."

"Wait, where's Hiccup?" asked Fish; he was the one who'd noticed something was wrong with the kid, if Tuff remembered correctly. Except for Astrid, none of the teens knew what had really happened to him (though they had a general idea), and Astrid wasn't telling.

There was a sad expression on Gobber's face for a moment and then it was replaced by a frown. "It's complicated," he said. "We'll have a small dinner in the afternoon and then I'll tell yeh, if yeh can stomach it."

They nodded, not knowing what to say, and the lesson began.

First Gobber had them do a fast jog, fifteen laps around the bowl on the outside, their path marked by four wooden blocks at the corners of the ring. The runners spread out into a line, Astrid in the lead, out of her breath because of her earlier run but still holding on to first place, Tuffnut next and Ruff behind him, jostling for third place with Snotlout while Fish panted at the back. This was the order of things for the rest of the day.

After that they did two sets of twenty-five pushups with their gear on, or tried to – Fishlegs had to take off his hammer when he couldn't even do ten without help. There were stretches and jumping jacks and everything between, so that by the end of an hour they were all winded and short for breath. Tuffnut had a stitch in his side and it hurt to breathe, but that was fine, because pain didn't bother him unless it was accompanied by a heavy serving of scary death. He was very hard to intimidate.

Then they had a break outside the ring and a drink of water, but no bread, because that gave cramps.

"Now that yeh sorry lot have been through the grinder, it's time for sparring practice. Get your weapons."

There was a ragged cheer from the boys before they scattered to get their stuff. Tuffnut had left his billhook in the arena and went down to go get it. He picked it up and was about to leave when he heard a low growling noise that sounded like it was coming from one of the pens that had to be a dragon. Not one to be beaten, he walked to the door where he thought the growling was and kicked at it. The beast inside snarled and beat at the iron-reinforced beams, but it had no chance to get out.

"Tuffnut! What's taking yeh so long down there?" bellowed Gobber from the green. "And what's that noise?"

"Nothing! Just hold on a minute while I get my things." said Tuff, and casting a sorrowful look at the door, he jogged up the ramp and joined his companions on the green.

The breeze was picking up now, a merry, swirling wind that ruffled his dreadlocks and cooled him down with crisp, fresh air. It made him feel alive, not to mention it blew away the lingering smell of dragon dung that hung around the arena like an invisible pall, weighing him down with its odor.

"Spread out! I want twenty paces between pairs. Move it!" called Gobber.

They fell out, Ruffnut with Astrid and Snotlout with Tuffnut, Fishlegs standing to the side.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Yeh're with me." said the smith, gruffly, and Fishlegs picked up his hammer and went to him.

"Show me yer basic swings!" said Gobber. "Don't hold back."

"Can we hit each other?" asked Ruffnut.

"No."

"Aww! I was hoping we'd actually get to do something exciting for once. This is boring."

"Just show me your swings and let's get this over with." The smith sighed.

The teens looked hesitant, all except for Astrid. She chopped sideways as if she was cutting down a tree, controlling the follow-through and jumping forwards with the energy of the swing, then hacked upwards and back before returning to her place.

"Excellent work Astrid, as usual. Snotlout, Ruffnut, you're up next. Move, maggots!"

Snotlout snapped out of his trance and swung his mace. Clumsily. The metal head of the weapon was too much for him to handle at speed and it spun him like a top before he lost grip of the handle and it flew into the grass with a dull thump, followed shortly by another dull thump (and an oof), as Snotlout tripped and faceplanted into the ground for the third time in as many hours.

"If you were trying to impress anyone you've failed horribly," said Ruffnut, and she stepped forward. "Pay close attention, because you're about to see a professional at work."

"Professional?" yelled Tuffnut. "She knows nothing about how to use a spear! You should be seeking advice from me, the world's deadliest weapon!"

"Excuse me? I hope you know that I've beaten you up over seven-hundred times."

"Yeah, and I've beaten _you_ up almost eight-hundred times. You have nothing on me!"

"Quit!" This came from Gobber, who was now feeling the beginnings of a headache.

The twins glared at each other but otherwise stayed silent. They didn't want to clean the dragon pens, although Tuffnut was currently coming up with a prank on Gobber to make up for the fact that the smith had ruined his bickering.

Ruffnut stabbed at the air with her spear admirably, but guessed herself on the return and let the speartip hit sod.

"Ruffnut! Yer offense is good enough, but yer defense is terrible and yer concentration is non-existent. Tuffnut, go!"

Ah, so he was saving Fishlegs for last, thought Tuff. Which was a good decision, because that kid had the fighting skills of a cod and about the same level of courage. Unlike himself, of course.

Tuffnut twirled his billhook with his right hand and made a sudden stab forward, pivoted on his left foot and made a circle of death with the sharp blade, pulling in his left arm so he spun faster and faster, forming a human whirlwind that sliced through the air like the scythe of the grim reaper. A change. Suddenly he felt dizzy, but not too dizzy, or else he would fall over… All at once there was a bang and a shout, and the ground felt like it was swimming – or was it his vision that was swimming, or were his eyes taking a vacation in his skull... Tuffnut felt like his head had been caught on the gears of a windmill and then crushed into a wet paste with extreme prejudice.

"Uh, guys," he said when he had regained enough coherence to actually use his mouth without his tongue feeling like rubber and popcorn had ceased to pop in his joints. "Why is the sun not in the sky anymore?"

He wasn't sure, but it looked like Ruff was rolling her eyes at him. Even Astrid had a smile on her face, and Fishlegs was suppressing a snicker. Some people, however, gave no such courtesy.

"Good Gods Tuff. You screwed up even more than I did, and that's saying something," Once again, Snot demonstrated his complete lack of personal awareness.

"Tuffnut, that was terrifying, terrible and stupid all at once. Congratulations, ye've outdone Snotlout, barely," said Gobber.

"Hey!"

"Fishlegs, go!"

The kid stepped forward and gave his best swing. It wasn't very good, Tuffnut thought, especially compared with The Whirlwind of Death (trademarked), but it was passable.

Gobber only sighed.

"Thorvald, Haldric! Show these young bucks how it's done," said the smith, and two men came over the hill in full battle dress, including the helms and shield. One carried a hammer, the other a spear.

"Wait, they were there the whole time!?" asked a singularly stupid voice.

"Use your brain Snot; of course they were," said Ruffnut.

"They're probably here to protect us if anything goes _really_ wrong. Extra safeties in case there's an accident," said Tuff, not wanting Ruff to monopolize the conversation.

"Screw you."

"Enough! Yeh're testing my patience and I don't have a lot of it left," said Gobber. "Thorvald, show 'em what ye've got."

"Okay."

Thorvald shifted into a battle stance; left leg forward, right leg placed behind his body and slightly to the side, supporting the weight of his hammer with his strong arms.

"As yeh all can see, the first order of business is ta' hev a good battle stance and to use it. It's no use ta' be good with a weapon if one blow can knock yeh over, now is it?"

Astrid nodded, and the rest of the teens followed her lead, not wanting to look like they didn't know what Gobber was talking about.

"Notice the back right foot placed off ta' the side. This grants better stability against sweeping strikes and allows yeh to dodge easier. This is basic stuff, if yeh don't get it the first time, yeh're out a luck, and I'm not saying this again."

This was so boring. As if he would ever use this knowledge anyway. He was too cool for this, in fact, he was too cool for everything except fighting dragons. Life was about as boring as a yak, and Gobber's version of life was about as interesting as a lame yak with gas problems. At least you could prank farm animals; without any excitement he'd go practically insane in a few minutes – he could feel his intelligence dropping by the second – he was becoming one of them… mindless zombies that followed the smith's orders like -

"Tuffnut! Yeh're zoning out again. Wake up!"

Tuff set a new record for highest altitude achieved in a jumpscare.

"What!?"

"I said quit daydreaming and pay attention."

"I wasn't daydreaming!" protested Tuff. "Honest!"

Gobber gave him an unimpressed _look_.

"Since you've been such an attentive student, I hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions." asked Gobber, now thoroughly fed up with Tuffnut during practice and really in general.

Tuffnut shook his head frantically, hoping that he looked something like an attentive student. Someone giggled at him behind his back. Probably Ruff.

"Demonstrate a proper battle stance and tell me why having one is important."

Tuff spread his legs sideways in much the same manner as a split, holding his billhook with both hands, elbows locked and legs turned in slightly. His knees wobbled and he nearly lost his balance, but steadied himself, took a deep breath.

"Are yeh sure that's the stance yeh' would use during a dragon raid? Are yeh absolutely sure?" asked Gobber. Tuffnut couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something seemed wrong with the smith, as if he wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or to laugh uncontrollably.

Tuff nodded, hoping that he wasn't mistaken. He wasn't a betting deadly weapon (most of the time), but even he could see that something was up.

"Then the way yeh're doing it is horribly, fantastically wrong," said Gobber. There was a chuckle from behind Tuffnut. Probably Snot, getting his revenge for those trips.

"Let me demonstrate."

Gobber reached over and pushed at Tuffnut's chest with one finger, hard. Tuff overbalanced, tried to stabilize his body by letting his arms fly out, but the billhook was tangled in his fingers and swung sideways, the razored edge whizzing by Gobber's neck, missing it by an inch.

With all the noise of a toppling oak (but considerably less grace), Tuffnut tumbled backwards like a sack of bricks and hit the dirt with a ground-shaking thump – well, perhaps it wasn't quite as spectacular, but he couldn't resist the urge to exaggerate with some theatrical flailing around that was _not_ caused by surprise and fear.

He moaned, kicked at nothing, and went quiet, drooling out of the corners of his mouth to improve his act.

Then someone punched him in the side. Tuffnut jumped up like a shot, nearly breaking his own record for highest altitude achieved in a jumpscare, then remembered he was supposed to be dead and clutched his hand to his neck and pretended to choke himself, stumbled and fell back to the earth in a heap.

"Pathetic," said a voice in his ear. Ruffnut. Tuffnut let his fist fly without even looking. There was a rush of wind as Ruff dodged and his hand hit only air.

Meanwhile, Gobber could feel his already severe headache turning into a migraine. Even last year's crop of moronic young upstarts had been better than this. If the twins had any relatives whose brains still functioned they would be getting a giant chewing out after this, but unfortunately those worthies were all dead, gone dragon hunting or else lost to the bottle, and the only one who could really punish them was himself.

Haldric was shaking his head and trying not to laugh, and Thorvald had broken out in guffaws no sooner than he'd seen the performance.

"Tuffnut, that was despicable and a let-down to yer very ancestors. What do yeh hev to say for yerself, before I make yeh feed the dragons with rotten fish for the rest of yer days on this Gods forsaken island," It was both a statement and a question.

If Tuffnut couldn't satisfy Gobber with his reply, he'd be assigned to feeding the dragons for at least a day, and his reputation would be tarnished practically forever, at least in the kid's eyes. On the other hand, the little perp might realize the gravity of the situation by now, and giving him another chance might not've been such a bad idea.

"It's not my fault that your dumb talks are so boring -," started Tuffnut. Oof. Even Snotlout flinched. "Sure, I might not've done so good right _now_ , but I bet I can outfight all your sorry asses on the real battlefield. After all, I _am_ the world's deadliest weapon, not some dodgy old codger like you."

That did it. If Tuffnut had been been on thin ice before, Gobber's anger had just opened up a five mile wide rift in the north pole directly underneath the kid's feet. A line had been crossed with such blatant disrespect, and the smith wouldn't stand for it.

Fishlegs took two steps back from the obvious expression of rage on the smith's face, and everyone else did the same, stepping away from the now thoroughly doomed Tuffnut as if the world was about to end for him in about three seconds, which it was. Even Astrid cringed. The very world seemed to still, poised on the brink of the coming tirade, and you could've heard a pin drop.

"One day cleaning the dragon pens in the morning and afternoon, starting at the end of this lesson!" roared Gobber. "Not tomorrow, today! You've been absolutely terrible, and I will not let your bad example go unchecked. You're lucky I'm being easy on you, or you would be stuck doing this for the rest of your sorry childhood. I've put up with this for far too long."

Tuffnut's face lost its joking smile and took on a look of pure horror, his mouth opening but no sound coming out.

"In addition to this, you will also continue dragon training, but you will not be awarded any titles for any feats accomplished during practice. You have three hours to change my mind, or the sentence will be carried out in full. Am I clear?"

Tuff was too stunned to do anything other than nod dumbly.

"Good. Let this be a lesson to everyone."

* * *

 **I know that I don't usually drop these kind of cliffhangers on people like this, but I know you guys will be forgiving to me this one time.**

 **Keep an eye out for the update on Wednesday.  
**

 **I always appreciate your feedback, and your ideas can contribute to the story, so don't hesitate. The review box is always down below.**

 **Cheers!**


	10. In The Arena - Part II

**AN:**

 **Hey guys. I'm back with the promised update. Even with all the writing I've been doing it's been a pretty stress-free week, even with college work breathing down my neck all the time. Maybe I should try prewriting more often.**

 **Check out the poll on my profile that I put up and vote on how often you guys want to see me update. I think that question might be rhetorical, because I bet everyone will pick 'Daily' even though it's not even an option.**

 **Cheers!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own HTTYD, the books, movies or otherwise. If I did, the second movie wouldn't exist as we know it, and we would have an awesome montage of Toothless blowing up stuff in its place.**

* * *

Dragon training went quickly after that, if it was rather subdued. Thorvald and Haldric showed the boys how to swing their weapons, how to stab with their spears and dodge Nadder quills in the midst of a battle, how best to run with their gear on, to keep an eye on their surroundings, both their enemies and their fellow vikings, how to cooperate to take down a dragon, how to stay out of other's way, and even the basics of how to fight in a formation against a driving attack.

Astrid could practically handle herself, but Haldric kept an eye on her anyway, correcting her where she went wrong and giving her small amounts of praise when she exceeded some heretofore unbroken record.

It was something new to the teens, who were now really apprentices of their teachers. This organized environment was different from anything they had ever experienced. Sure, they had trained with themselves and with their peers, sometimes under the watchful eye of an adult, their fathers perhaps, or an uncle or two, but this coordinated fighting was a novel experience for them.

Missing was the banter of the twins, an eerie lack of simple talk that almost seemed oppressive. No one wanted to speak up and offend Gobber, yet even the elder smith was not immune to the silence. Maybe he had gone too far. The boy was deserving of some punishment, certainly, but a day of cleaning the dragon pens might've been more than needed to scare him into shape. Still, he had to maintain a tough exterior and a stiff upper lip, otherwise the kid might think the threat wasn't serious and fall back into his disrespectful ways.

Most profound of all was the effect on the twins. Ruffnut was quiet, less competitive; distant, less willing to spend time with Astrid, more willing to be on her own.

Tuffnut looked crushed, probably would feel crushed for the rest of the day. He was withdrawn, still struggling to comprehend the misfortunes that had befallen him, shaken more than anything else. He might regain some of his old bravado in a few days, but for now he was behaving the part of a model apprentice, minus the speech.

Both of them seemed not quite there somehow, as if what had happened to one had a profound influence on the other.

Another hour passed in practice, and then Gobber called a second water break. Everyone was flushed and thirsty, and they all took a long drink. Everyone except the twins, that was. Tuff picked up his leather canteen and held the bottle to his lips, gargled the brackish water to wash away the saliva and then spat it out on the grass, not letting a single drop go down his brackish throat, Ruff doing the same.

Thorvald, on the other hand, told war stories between gulps about how he'd taken down his Nightmare when he was the teen's age with nothing more than a spear, his helmet and the clothes on his back. Back in his day, he boasted, the trainees didn't get any armor or special gadgets; their best weapon was a poleaxe, not some fancy halberd like those warriors these days were adopting.

Everything was more heroic thirty years ago, he told them, and stories of a strong axeman chopping off a particularly malicious dragon's head off, saving the girl and then getting married on a miraculously warm, sunny day in December were commonplace – it was how he had gotten married, in fact.

Whereupon Gobber gave the rather gullible kids the Facts. Chivalry was not commonplace, in fact, and glorious heroics did not abound with every raid. No, it was everyday courtesy and hardship that made the warrior. While it was true that a few things had been slightly better in Thorvald's day, generations of Berk's hardened warriors still kept the island dragon-free three-hundred and sixty-five days out of the year – nights didn't count, and the early mornings were always iffy.

Life for Hooligans continued as it always did, and in fact weaponry had advanced by leaps and bounds since Thorvald's time, perhaps due to the efforts of a dedicated smith or two – Gobber didn't take too much credit, only pointed out what he thought were the real Facts and not a jaded recount of past battles.

Nevertheless, Snotlout oohed and ahhed with every gruesome detail while Astrid simply listened, as if taking Thorvald's tales as a handbook to killing dragons, carefully noting every technique as it was told, taking them apart and finding their merits and weaknesses.

Thorvald had finished his latest war story about he had slain two Zipplebacks at once by taking advantage of a collapsing catapult and was about to start spinning up another tale when Gobber stopped him. It was time to talk about something serious, something more current than an old story that was probably made up – you never knew with these things - sometimes a tale was actually true and the teller could get mad if you told him it wasn't. It was time to talk about Hiccup.

"Thorvald, could yeh stop talking for a moment?" said Gobber, in a tone that brooked an air of authority.

"Alright, alright. Are yeh sure you don't want to hear this next story?"

"I'm sure I'm sure," said Gobber, who really didn't. "There's something important I have to tell them."

Thorvald made a silent 'O' with his mouth.

"Yes, that."

"Settle down boys! Settle down!" yelled Gobber. "Settle down or I won't let yeh have any water breaks for the rest of the afternoon. Sit down! Hustle!"

After what had happened to Tuffnut no one argued. In short order five boys and girls sat ramrod straight on the grass with their legs crossed, each one the perfect picture of attentiveness – except for Tuff, who slouched a little more than he should've, but nobody blamed him.

Gobber sighed. How to say this? He cleared his throat once, twice, three times.

"Earlier today," he began, "I said that I'd tell yeh what really happened to Hiccup. Ye've probably noticed that he isn't with us now, and he has been the subject of many rumors these past several days. Today I am telling yeh the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Remember that what I am about to say is never to be slipped to the other tribes. This is Berk's secret, and Berk's alone. Am I clear?"

Everyone nodded vigorously, knowing the punishment if they let this 'secret' slip would be swift and terrible. Still, one or two of them had a good idea of what they were about to be told, and the gravity of it did not escape them.

"Five days ago, as yeh all should be aware, Hiccup collapsed in the village square with black lines running across his body. This has been taken by many to be some form of dark magic."

There were whispers in the back, but they were quickly hushed.

"He was taken to Gothi's house of healin', where he ley delirious with fever for almost two days. It was then that some.. curious things occurred. Whether by some curse or enchantment of the gods or evil witchcraft – it is still unclear at this point – my apprentice was changed – I use changed here because it is better than 'turned', into a black dragon heretofore unknown. We're still debating on whether we should kill it immediately or skewer it later and hang the skull over the doors of the great hall. The only thing we can do right now is wait for the chief to get back on this one, frankly, because he took most of our best warriors and we can't make any decisions without them."

What Gobber expected was a stampede, an outcry or a demand for the black dragon – no, demon, to be slaughtered as a safeguard against the occult. Vikings were a superstitious lot, after all, and he'd narrowly avoided this with the adults of the village.

What he didn't expect was silence. Quiet so quiet you could've heard a bird chirp from five hundred yards; tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"So," said Fishlegs after what seemed like a millennium, "you expect us to believe that Hiccup has been.. changed into this black dragon which you've never seen before by dark magics we've never heard of before except in legends, possibly by a witch or witches we've never known about or even had hints of in the middle of the village without us noticing a thing until he just collapsed out of the blue; oh, and he might be possessed to boot. Is that right?"

"When yeh put it that way, yes."

"Do you even have a name for this dragon?"

"Night Stalker. It was the best I could come up with on the spot."

Come to think of it, thought Gobber, his naming skills were horrendous.

"Can I put this in the book of dragons?" asked Fishlegs. Another thing the smith hadn't expected. For the boy to be practically fine with this. Maybe that kind of thing ran in the family.

"If I let yeh observe at all it'll be from a distance."

"Great!"

"This is so cool!" said Ruffnut out of nowhere. "Is it explosive? Can it shoot purple fireballs like a Night Fury? Do you know if it can sneak up on people in the night and kill them with one swipe of its razor sharp claws? Is it poisonous? Can I fight it? Pleeeeeeease?"

"No," said Gobber, and gave Ruff a warning look which was supposed to shrivel her up but didn't faze her in the least.

Astrid didn't look as surprised as she should've, but didn't say anything and went into a brown study.

"So who gets to kill this thing again?" asked Snotlout. "Will the award go to one of the adults or will one of us get to be the executioner? Hopefully the runner-up in the competition for the Nightmare. That would be a good idea. It's not like I'll ever win that anyway; Astrid's just too good. Right babe?"

He winked at Astrid as he said this and someone snickered.

"So dense, yet so transparent it's almost painful," said a ghostly voice from behind Fishlegs that sounded suspiciously like Tuffnut. "An endless source of fun for the family."

"I'm gonna kill you!" roared Snotlout, who ran around Fishlegs, having grown wise to the trick.

"Quit!" said Gobber, and Snot picked himself off the ground and brushed off his tunic as if he hadn't been chasing his nemesis just five seconds ago.

"Now that we've finished foolin' around," and here the smith gave two people a _look_ , "it's time to get into the details. Before I begin, I'd like to know if any of yeh have an intelligent question ta' ask?"

There were some shrugs.

"We'll be learning as much about this dragon as possible during the time it's still alive, and there's a chance that some of yeh will get ta' watch. But that's it. No touching, no fighting, no riding, taunting, bothering, or otherwise. Don't feed it. Don't go in the arena with it, let alone its cage without at least three adults with yeh at all times. Use yer brains please. And for Gods sake, don't try to kill it. I can't cover all the stupid things that some of yeh are doubtless going to attempt, but know that getting anywhere near it will result in severe punishment. In plain norse, don't be stupid. Am I clear!"

"Crystal!"

"Now that I've told yeh all about this, do you have any ideas or questions?"

It turned out that there were quite a few.

"What do we do if it escapes?"

"Can we cut up its insides after we kill it? – if we kill it, I mean. I wonder if it has two hearts like some of the other species."

"Who do you think cursed Hiccup? Could this happen to us too?"

"Does it fly? It would be amazing if it could fly, because then we could… I forgot what I was going to say."

"Can we show it off when the other tribes come to visit? That would be a good idea because I like it."

What stood out to Gobber was the fact that none of them really cared about Hiccup. Not one of them, not even Fishlegs, was concerned by the very real possibility that his apprentice had died – well, maybe Fishlegs was, but if that was the case he didn't show it, or been possessed or some other terrible fate. They tried not to look too happy about it, but for most of them they acted like they'd been weighed down by a third wheel that had just been taken away.

It was if Hiccup had simply ceased to exist, and a black specter had been put in the space which he had used to occupy. The idea that he might still be alive in there didn't even register.

"What happens when Stoick gets back?" asked Astrid. "It was his son after all, and if he tries to save it there could be trouble."

This was by far the most intelligent question that afternoon, and it was only then that Gobber realized that he was planning to wait until the chief came back but he didn't actually know what he was going to do when he actually got home. It was assumed that Stoick would solve all the problems, but what if Stoick didn't know how to solve all the problems. The chief had never been good with familial matters; though he knew how to rally a fighting force with his booming voice alone he was a terrible parent.

Another problem was the fact that Gobber had come to think of his apprentice as more of a son than anything else, and Stoick as the boy's stepfather. From the occasional glimpses he got of Hiccup's inner workings, the kid might have gone down the same path.

Needless to say, he kept these traitorous thoughts to himself.

Still, it wouldn't do to let them know he hadn't planned that far ahead. So he hedged a little.

"The matter will probably be resolved at the Thing, but since there's no precedent for this judgement could actually fall to the Council of Elders. Black magic isn't something Berk has dealt with before. Ever."

"So you're saying that it's not clear what we're going to do," said Astrid in a tone that told Gobber she had seen right through the hedge but was keeping quiet about that particular fact for the same reason he was.

"Yes. But we have a good idea of what we need to do; all that remains is getting to our goals."

"And what _are_ our goals?" asked Fishlegs.

Curses. He'd never been good at doublespeak.

"Cleansing the island of this infliction, with or without the help of the gods."

"Does that mean we have to kill this thing?"

"If we deem it necessary, yes."

And with that one word, Gobber's betrayal was complete. He had taken a side now. If Hiccup couldn't trust his real father for political reasons, couldn't trust his godfather – also for political reasons – who would he trust, even if Gothi's de facto prophecy decreed that he must have someone. The Gothi was never wrong.

Still, as he wrapped up the second-to-last bit of dragon training teaching his new apprentices about the general weak points of most dragons, he couldn't help but feel a kernel of doubt.

Of course, dragon training wasn't all done. Gobber firmly believed in learning on the job, and though one couldn't exactly do that when it came to one ton whirlwinds of destruction (it tended to result in serious injury and unpleasant death), he had another idea.

It was time for his students to meet the Terrible Terror.

Oh, and Tuffnut wasn't off the hook. He'd said as much.

* * *

It was a different Tuff that stepped into the arena. A calmer Tuff, a more contrite Tuff, or so he told himself. And now he made an actual effort to listen to what Gobber was saying. Who knew? Maybe someone would take pity on him and reduce his sentence – not that he had ever been pitiable, of course, but sometimes other people thought weird.

"In these cages are many dangerous dragon that ye' will learn ta' fight," began Gobber, pointing to each of the cages in turn. "The Hideous Zippleback -"

Fishlegs muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like numbers. Tuffnut tuned him out.

"The Deadly Nadder, The Gronckle, and last and probably least, tha' Terrible Terror, which ye' all are going to be fighting in a moment."

"Wait a minute," said Snot, "Why are we fighting the terror? It's tiny. An annoyance. Why aren't we going to fight something else?"

"Because if yeh tried to fight anything else ye'd be slaughtered. Still, I believe in learning on the job," said Gobber, and he pressed the lever that opened the trapdoor.

A flap opened at the bottom of the door and the yellow dragon darted out like a streak, came to a stop ten feet away from the group and cocked its head.

"That thing looks like it's the size of my brother's -" said Ruffnut, and then it jumped on her nose and bit, hard.

"Hey, look, it's likes me bett – OW! Get this thing off my nose!"

Ruff hit the dirt, still trying to pull off the little dragon that was in a love affair with her face. Tuffnut grabbed it, jerked it away from Ruff's face and sent it flying as he stumbled backwards.

"I got it! I got it!" said Snotlout, and he ran to where he thought the Terror would fall. He didn't catch it. The Terror landed on his vest and tore the front half of his tunic to shreds, then skittered into his shirt so it could chew on his arm.

"HELP!" yelled Snot. "I'm dying here! There's twenty terrors crawling all over my shirt HELP!"

"Are we allowed to kill this thing?" asked Astrid, who was calmly getting a shield from the weapon's rack.

"If yeh need to. As yeh can see, they're a pain to catch," said Gobber, punctuated by Snotlout's cries.

"They're eating me alive! HEELP!"

Eventually the Terror got tired of Snotlout's tunic and ran off, grabbing Fishleg's boot and holding on to it as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the dragon as possible. As if that was going to work.

Fish tripped on something, stumbled and fell to the ground with an _oof_ as the Terror attacked his clothing.

"Uh, guys, a little help would be – _OW!_ \- appreciated," said Fish, as once the dragon had gotten bored of tearing up his pantlegs it had moved to his ear and started to scratch at it.

"Lemme get it and all your problems will be solved," said Ruff. "I'm gonna kill that thing!"

The terror was amused, for it jumped on Ruffnut's nose again and chewed on it as if it was nothing more than a tasty piece of gum.

"This wasn't part of the plan. Oh, that hurts! Aack!"

Astrid bashed the terror with her shield and picked it up with one hand, the little dragon thoroughly stunned by the slam to the back of the head. It twitched a little, then fainted.

"Great job babe. I couldn't have done it better myself," said Snot.

Astrid looked as if she was only holding back from knocking out the lout because of the potential brain damage, although she needn't have bothered.

"Aw man. I shoulda thought of that," said Ruffnut. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"And the world's deadliest weapon escapes unscathed!" cut in Tuffnut. "Hah, think of that, chumps."

Gobber gave him a warning glare, and Tuff found that his mouth had suddenly decided that talking was not in its best interests.

"So, what have yeh learned today?"

"That the Tuffnut reigns supreme!" said Tuff, and then remembered that he wasn't supposed to be boasting. "Shutting up now."

"I dunno," said Snotlout. "Were we supposed to be learning anything?"

"We're not good at fighting Terrible Terrors, yet." Ruff.

"No one else has enough courage." That was from Astrid.

Gobber gave them disappointed looks.

"Uh, guys. I think you're all wrong," said Fishlegs, which earned him a glare from everyone else. He cowered, but kept talking. "Gobber had us fight the Terrible Terror as a test. We failed. We should be humble, because we can't even beat a Terror without Astrid's help. Is Astrid always going to be around when we need her? Of course not. It's a reminder that we need help, and Gobber is that help, so we should all stop goofing around and focus, because if we can't beat a Terror, what chance do we have against a Nadder or a Gronckle?"

It was a rhetorical question.

"For those of us who don't have parents, getting a mentor is a rare chance to excel. If you want to be the best, you have to work to be the best. For those of us who do have parents, remember that we must uphold the family reputation, even when our family aren't on the island. From now on, we'll have to work together so we can make the cut. Am I right or am I wrong?"

As much has Tuffnut hated to say it, even think it, Fishlegs was right.

"Right."

"That makes sense, in a funny sort of way," said Snotlout, and he was right too.

"Alright," said Astrid, and she spoke for Ruff.

"But then again, I'm only a fisherman's son," said Fishlegs.

And Haldric clapped. So did Thorvald. Gobber would've, but he hadn't put on his clapping attachment, having gone with the hook. And goodness knew he couldn't applaud with that on.

"Bravo Fishlegs! I couldn't of said it better myself. Dragon training is officially over for the day, but if you want to watch me and the men handle the new dragon, you're welcome to stick around and watch from the top of the ring."

"Does that mean that I'm excused from cleaning the dragon pens?" asked Tuffnut in a hopeful sort of voice.

"No. Haldric, get this young man a shovel."

"Aw man! You've got to be kidding me," whined Tuffnut.

"Think positive," said Snot. "At least you don't have handle their bedding."

"Come ta' think of it, tha's actually a good idea."

"Nice going, idiot."

* * *

Meanwhile.

" _You've got about ten men headed your way._ _I'll kill them and blast you out. Piece of cake._ _If not for this stupid tail injury I'd have done this_ _already._ _"_

" _WHAT!? You can't do that! I still have to earn their trust!"_

" _It's not going to happen_ _. You'll just get yourself killed and I'll have wasted my time for nothing."_

" _Give me a chance. And besides, how'd_ you _get in my head!?"_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **If you're reading this, I want to thank you prematurely. You've been through ten chapters of my writings, and that should be medalworthy. Remember that the review box is always down below and I never forget to respond to a review.**

 **Your ideas, criticisms and opinions do have an effect on the story, even if it is a small one, but in the end I reserve the right to write.**

 **P.S The Super Bowl was boring. Somebody needs to knock the Pats down a peg.**

 **Cheers, from B. Avar.**


	11. In The Arena - Part III

**A/N.**

 **Well, the third part of my impromptu trilogy is here. Enjoy!**

 **Made while listening to Linkin Park and the radio in my dorm room. I hate ads, and you should too.** **Some of the things that happen in this chapter are probably due to the fact that I made this while listening to Linkin Park.**

* * *

My pleasant snooze was broken by the eerie sound of someone else in my head. Typical. I'd just had the best dream – the kind where there's a great feast and you don't have to share any of it with anyone else, except I was sharing it with someone who I couldn't quite see and yet was familiar to me in an odd sort of way that I couldn't put my finger on.

" _Wak_ _e up, Dark One."_

I groaned, rolled over in the dark cage I'd been put in and felt something squish underneath my scales. Perhaps it was best not to know what it was, though I already had a good idea.

' _What now?'_ said my sarcastic side, _'_ _Another Night Fury?'_

" _Who are you?"_ I asked.

" _The_ _other Dark One_ _._ _You've got about ten men headed your way._ _I'll kill them and blast you out. Piece of cake._ _If not for this stupid tail injury I'd have done this_ _already._ _"_

' _Oh come on!'_

I hoped the other Night Fury couldn't hear the noise in my head.

" _WHAT!? You can't do that! I still have to earn their trust!"_

" _It's not going to happen_ _. You'll just get yourself killed and I'll have wasted my time for nothing."_

" _Just give me_ _a chance._ _And besides, how'd_ you _get in my head?_ _"_

' _Considering that the_ _dragon who just ruined your life is now_ _offering to kill_ _your godfather,_ _you seem to be taking this in stride,'_ said a very familiar voice which I didn't want to hear right now.

The other Night Fury didn't say anything for a moment, as if he was thinking.

" _Go ahead._ _If you_ _die_ _, that's not my problem."_

' _That sounds suspiciously manipulative,'_ said Mr. Sarcastic.

' _Shut up,'_ I told my sarcastic side, but I thought too loud.

" _Excuse me?"_ said the Fury. He needed a name.

" _I said shut up!_ _You destroyed_ _m_ _e_ _, twisted me to your own purposes. I won't let you kill my friends."_

" _They_ _aren't yo_ _ur friends;_ _they never were. You're better off with m_ _e."_

" _N_ _o_ _."_

" _Have it your way,_ _but when you're about to become a cooling corpse,_ _blame yourself."_

There was a ruckus outside, indignant roars and hissing, the squeak of a flap opening and the crash of a dragon slamming into a wall. They were looking for me outside. There were shouts, talking.

"It's not in the cage!"

"Check the other ones. It couldn't have escaped, not yet," said someone. I couldn't tell who it was through the thick door.

There was a pang in my stomach, and I felt sick. They were talking about me as if I were a common animal. Where was Gobber? Surely he would come through for me, right? What if he couldn't? What then?

I knew he wouldn't abandon me like that unless he had no choice. Suddenly I felt very small, scared, even.

"Careful. There's a Nadder in here."

There was the full rasp of someone removing the crossbeam and the door opened, swung by an unseen Viking hand, and I screwed my eyes shut from the blinding light. I stumbled, felt the breeze and breathed in a pint of fresh air as the wind removed the taint of dragon manure.

Stormfly squawked, she too surprised by the bright glow, I thought, but she did not cower. I heard the pounding of Nadder feet on hardened earth and a roar. She charged, but they were waiting for her.

No Viking alive can mistake the swishing noise of a bola as it slices through the air, and I was no exception. Now I heard many of them, and there was a series of dull thuds and a thump as Stormfly fell to the dirt.

I squinted, my pupils adjusting now. It was a sunny day, and I could barely see for the glare. Still, I made out the forms of eight or nine stolid men standing in a half-circle around the entrance to the pen, and Stormfly on the ground in a heap, and standing on the opposite rim of the arena was the gang.

"Got 'em!"

"Where's the Stalker? I don't see it."

' _Finally, some respect around here.'_

' _I hate you_ _.'_

"It's in the back corner. Looks like it hasn't escaped after all," said a man, then, "Pay up."

Another man grumbled and handed over a silver coin to the speaker. So they were betting on me already. I shouldn't of been surprised, but I was.

"Just so you know, I'm winning my next wager. Guaranteed."

"Suck it up Goatlout. You never win"

"Enough chatter. C'mon. I want to be done with this before supper."

"It's nothin'," said another, "We'll look over the animal, see if there's any defects, feed it and go home."

"What if it curses us? I don't want anything to do with this black magic stuff."

"Relax. Everything will turn out fine."

My vision had cleared now, and I could see Gobber standing in the middle of the pack. He wasn't helping them, but he wasn't helping me either. I looked at him, tried to get his attention, but he acted as if he didn't recognize me. Maybe there were too many Vikings around for him to attempt anything, maybe he'd been hamstrung by politics or something else. That was my guess.

"Who'll touch it first?" asked the one who'd made the bet and lost; Goatlout, if I'd heard right.

"I will," said a man. His name was Thorvald. "You're missing out on all the glory."

He stepped into the dragon pen, holding his hammer in both hands, and my pride flared. I wasn't some dumb dragon, mindlessly attacking every man I saw. I was a former apprentice, and I was more civilized than that.

My stomach growled, and Thorvald paused, then stepped toward me again, looming over my short body like a wrestler does over a child. I was frightened then, afraid, but I knew that if I so much as scratched him I could say goodbye to any chance of a life.

I didn't move, didn't look up at him. It was easier that way. I couldn't stand eye contact before the change, and now I couldn't either. And there was always the chance that Thorvald would take it as a challenge. No, better to be submissive and risk looking like a pansy than be defiant and die.

The man raised his hammer, prodded me with it, and I shivered from the touch of cold stone, but did not pull away. He prodded me again and I flinched. He tensed, but when I didn't attack him he grew calmer, though he didn't let down his guard. No, he was too wise for that.

Then he kicked me in the ribs. Not hard for what a Viking could do; he probably thought it weak. The toe of his boot knocked me over and I tumbled on the dirty floor, hissing from the pain.

"Ha! What are you so scared of now?" proclaimed Thorvald, "This thing's a pushover."

Satisfied that I wasn't going to kill them with dark forces pulled from another plane of existence, the rest of the men quickly pushed forward.

"Look at the size of those wings. I bet my wife would like a cloak made from this kind of leather."

"I can't believe this thing is so tiny. Probably can't even shoot fire."

"Ten to one it'd be beat by a terror. It doesn't even bite when you poke it, see."

"Yeah."

"It might look small, but keep your axes at the ready. We don't know anything about this one. It could explode for all we know."

"Sure, sure, but it seems like a waste of time to guard something so pathetic it doesn't even fight back."

"I heard a rumor that -"

"Shut your trap. You don't know what you're talking about."

Someone picked me up by the scruff of my neck and held me up for the rest to see.

' _Looks like you've gotten yourself a nice crowd of admirers,'_ said Mr. Sarcastic. _'And I deserve a better name than that, just so you know.'_

' _It's a perfectly good name and I'm not changing it. I am no longer tolerating_ _sarcastic voices in my head.'_

' _If I see any I'll tell them.'_

"Is anyone here good at sketchin'?" asked Gobber. "I brought some parchment and a charcoal for the purpose. It'll have to do until we get the Book of Dragons down here."

Everyone shook their heads.

"Alright. Go on Fish, let's see what you can do."

Fishlegs stepped into the pen and took the parchment and charcoal, wrinkled his nose at the stench of the air. It never smelled good in the arena, but now the air reeked of sweat to boot. I could understand the reaction.

"Who let _him_ in?" said Goatlout.

"Me," said Gobber, and that was that.

"What are ye' waiting for. Go on."

Fishlegs inched forward and began drawing, looking at me occasionally. He was tracing an outline now. Slowly a vague, draconic form emerged that looked something like a beanpole with limbs and an attitude that looked like me, oddly, only skinnier.

' _Nah. Compared to you, that looks plump.'_

Jerk.

Then Thorvald turned me sideways and Fishlegs repeated the process until Gobber was satisfied.

"Okay, put it down. It's time to feed this thing."

"Feed it?"

"Naw. It's so small it won' need much food, and it's only for a short time. There's no point in waiting until the chief gets back if it dies of hunger."

A burly man hustled off, returned with a large basket that didn't have much fish in it and dumped the dregs into an empty trough which had been standing to the side. So Stormfly had finished off the stuff that had been in here yesterday, which surprised me because it had smelled horrible.

I sniffed, testing the air. Growing up in a village that ate a lot of fish, I thought myself a good judge of food. Whatever had been in that basket was clearly on the way out. There were fish heads, parasite infested fillets, rotten spots and many more disagreeables, not to mention the squirming maggots. So we fed our dragons refuse. It made sense of course, from the Viking point of view, but maybe, just maybe someone had forgotten that most animals had taste buds, reptiles included.

Not to mention that I didn't like raw meat. Sure, I'd eaten it before – that was one of the stupid things people did if they wanted to call themselves Vikings, but the taste didn't agree with me; besides, raw meat that was considered edible generally didn't have maggots.

"Put it down," said Gobber. "We're done here."

Thorvald let go of me and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Can't we have some fun with it first?" asked Goatlout.

I knew what fun meant. 'Fun' was kicking me in the shins until my bones cracked. 'Fun' was hanging me up on a tree for eight hours during a thunderstorm. 'Fun' meant being used as a punchbag until my skin was black and blue. 'Fun' was tying my hands together and tossing me into a pond, only pulling me out when I'd fainted because I couldn't breathe. 'Fun' wasn't any fun at all.

' _If he_ _so much as touches you_ _,_ _rearrange his teeth_ _.'  
_

"There's no honor in it. Don't," said Gobber.

"C'mon, what's the harm?" said another man.

"Plenty. We're done here."

"Fine."

Someone grumbled, most of them did, but they all filed out of the pen without much incident, except Goatlout, who spurned me with his boot, again in the ribs. I didn't get to knock out his teeth.

' _Aw, and I was looking forward to some excitement around here._ _Maybe if there's a rat we could have some fun.'_

' _Don't go there.'_

' _Spoilsport.'_

Then someone spoke outside.

"I'd hate to move this Nadder again, but it has to be done. Stupid animal," said Thorvald.

They were talking about Stormfly. She was still on the ground where she'd fallen, her legs wrapped up in bolas, flecks of white foam at her mouth as she twisted and rolled, struggling to get free. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Somebody close the door on the Stalker. Then we'll haul this one to another pen. Lie still, will ya!"

The burly Viking bashed Stormfly in the head with his war hammer with a crack and she shrieked from the pain and then fell quiet, stunned. I winced. The sharp cry hurt my ears and I turned away. Then someone slammed the door shut and barricaded it. Once again I was shrouded in darkness.

I was changing, I realized. I had felt another dragon's hurt as my own, empathized with it. No, her. There was so much suffering here, so much. It might take time, but they'd come for me too, behead me, perhaps, or hang me at the gallows for possession, or throw me into a furnace until I suffocated. Before, I hadn't been a Viking to them, but I was still a person. Now I was nothing, or worse, a source of some sick entertainment.

It was time to stop playing around in the hope that someone would rescue me.

So I didn't feel like a traitor for finding that Stormfly was my friend. A giant wyvern friend, an odd friend, a friend that scared me sometimes and was borderline cruel to me at others, but a friend. Someone that showed even a hint of caring about me.

Gobber had de facto abandoned me. Everyone I'd ever known had abandoned me. I had nothing to protect me except pity, no family, no friends, no possessions, nothing. I felt like I might lose the will to live.

And wasn't that sad.

My thoughts turned to the Night Fury that had changed me into this. It was my fault for letting him go. I never should've done that, never. By all rights he should've killed me. But he didn't. He made my life a living hell, and I hated him for it, a searing, righteous hate more intense than anything I had ever experienced before.

But I couldn't kill him; even if I was able to, I didn't think I had the conscience for it. Even as my passion for him burned, I realized his offer could be my salvation. The next time he talked to me I would take it. He had changed me into this form, maybe he could change me back. If he did, then we would be even. If he didn't, I would earn his trust and betray him, cryptic prophecies be damned.

They didn't apply to me now.

That was my plan. But reality has a way of coming full circle.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Those of you who are reading this story because you thought Hiccup was going to meet up with Toothless and then everything would be awesome, or at least good, are going to be disappointed. I'm not that kind of author. Don't worry, things are going to get better down the road, but the way there might not be pretty.**

 **Hiccup hates Toothless right now. Why shouldn't he? Toothless has ruined his life, wrecked it beyond repair. If a man took everything from you, wouldn't you hate him?**

 **Hiccup thinks he might be able to make it up to his father, and he loves Gobber like an uncle. So while his life was bad, in his eyes, he could've fixed it. Then along comes Toothless. When Gobber gives up on Hiccup – at least in Hiccup's eyes – it's the last straw.**

 **You're probably thinking that this is not how Hiccup works. That's true: Hiccup is not a revenge oriented person. But do you really think that a guy with another personality in his head that talks to him and even seems to be a separate entity is mentally stable? Absolutely not. Hiccup is cracking inside.**

 **Everything is coming down like a house of cards after it's been run over by a truck, and that's not going to change for a while.**

 **This is not the Hiccup you know and love. He's going to be emotionally scarred by this for a long time, maybe for life.**

 **This is dark for a fic that uses a lot of humor. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to pull this off. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose a lot of followers. But I hope that this fic is different.**

 **As always the review box is down below, and I hope you take the time to write one, even if I'm going to be taking a lot of flak for this. Remember, it only takes thirty seconds of your time.**

 **This pretty much concludes the end of the first arc.  
**


	12. Tension - Tuffnut Surprised

**AN:**

 **Made while listening to We're Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister, and other songs too numerous to mention.  
** **So I've been asked by a Guest – note to Guests – could you please write an actual name into that little box above the review section if you're not going to sign up for an account? – I've been asked by a Guest if Toothless will destroy the parchment** **because it contains incriminating evidence of Hiccup. Probably not. The whole island knows what he looks like, and since the villagers are planning to stuff him after they kill him, presumably (according to their knowledge)** **the other islands are going to know what he looks like as well.**

 **The best laid plans have a habit of going awry. I will say no more.**

* * *

He'd come around. They always did, I knew. I had. So had my 'father', and so had his brothers. So maybe I'd been heavy-handed with the kid, maybe I'd been slightly arrogant. But I hadn't destroyed his life, so to speak; I was merely introducing him to a new and better one, one where he would be free from the traditions of those idiotic two-leg humans. Freedom! That was what dragons valued most, or at least what they should value most.

And in freeing him I would also free myself. Two was better than one. So he might be angry, so he might be afraid right now. But he'd see the truth and the light and come to my side soon enough, leaving his tribe behind, unbound by their unworldly limitations.

Besides, my plans depended on it. I could expect a search from Her any day now. She knew that I'd tried to get away from Her before, tried to hide. I'd been foolish then; hiding from Her was futile. The only option was flight. But I couldn't make good my escape without the help of the boy. Hiccup, he called himself, from what I'd gleaned from the bits of conversation I could catch. That name would have to change.

Two was better than one.

Still, the best laid plans often went awry, although there would be a rainstorm late tonight; that I could tell. There wouldn't be any dragon raids now, not when the Queen – no, I refused to call that despicable lump of meat by such an honorable name – not when the Despot could not be sure of the signal. A good dragon raid needed an overcast night, or better yet, a clear one with no moon.

She was too methodical to attack now, not yet so full of herself that she had completely forgotten common sense. This I knew also. So I'd wait until tomorrow morning, let Hiccup stew in his own guilt. Then he would realize that taking my offer was the right choice, the logical choice, the only way to ensure his own life. That was the way life always worked; it wanted to preserve itself.

He'd better accept. I was on a short timescale. It was already late Autumn, and in these parts it would only be about a month until it became Winter, and after that came Devastating Winter. Healing my tail could take two weeks. That meant that if I freed him now, I only had that much time to get him to help me.

And there was also the fact that any more time and he'd be too heavy for me to carry, and the fact that if he fell into Her talons it would be a disaster for my plan. Any number of things could go wrong, and despite myself I worried.

Only two weeks to teach him the art of resonance, or at least a crude version of it, and after that I had only a day to get out of there. Only two weeks to teach him how to shield himself properly – he broadcasted so loudly it was a wonder She couldn't hear him.

All I had to do was wait until tomorrow morning and hope nothing went wrong. It wasn't like me to hope; I preferred to make things happen myself. Better that he accepted. Better that I didn't have to use… other methods.

* * *

It was over. Tuffnut groaned as he surveyed his work. It was all over. The dragon pen he was standing in had been cleared of dung with a steel shovel, soaked in soapy water and scrubbed with sandalwood until it was shinier than Odin's glass eye. That was the punishment Gobber had inflicted on him, saying that he needed to learn humility.

He was already humble, he just had a different definition of the word than everyone else. Ruff would understand, but he got sick of her girliness sometimes. Now it was late; everyone else had gone home and Tuff was alone in the arena, tired and yet bored out of his mind. Even the sentry had left.

So it was that he wandered around the arena, not quite ready to go back to the village, back to a hard bed and little dinner, glancing at the walls as he went. It was only natural after all. There was a nice sunset happening, though slightly overcast, and there was a good breeze. It was the perfect evening for a stroll.

Tuff made a circuit around the inside of the ring, went up the ramp and looked out over the bridge. There was no one, nothing save for the wispy clouds that rolled in from the west. The island was quiet, without even the chirping of crickets. It was too cold for them this time of year.

Gobber and the others would be eating in one of the watchtowers tonight, along with Snotlout. What an idiot. If it hadn't been for Snotlout escalating things.. well, maybe he wouldn't have had to clean that pen. He'd have to tone it down around the adults, maybe, but he hadn't done anything wrong. Gobber was just being pushy, that was all. Or so Tuffnut convinced himself.

Still, there wasn't a man in sight. Even the pigeons had settled in their roosts and the seagulls had put in for the night, save for the occasional squawk as each bird sought the best refuge from the cool wind. They didn't like having their feathers ruffled.

Tuffnut turned and ran back into the ring, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. There were no sentries, and he was alone. That was just what he wanted. Better that there was no one to see what he was about to do. The Nightmare grumbled inside its cage, but that was fine. It was always grumbling, though Tuffnut couldn't resist the urge to spit at it as he ran past. The Nightmare wasn't what he'd come for.

No. It was the Stalker. Gobber had told everyone not to even go near the dragon pens without an adult around, and much else besides, but these limits didn't apply to Tuff, at least when there wasn't anyone around to enforce them.

So he'd been sidelined when they went for the Stalker. The gang had gotten to watch the spectacle, but had he? No. There was a moment of excitement when the Nadder charged out and was taken down and another bit when Thorvald knocked out the beast and dragged it to another cage as it groaned in pain – now that was _glorious_. But between those times they just stood around by the pen and kept him from seeing what he really wanted to see – the new dragon. It was novel, it was new, it was exciting and probably life-threateningly dangerous – all these things drew Tuffnut like a moth to a flame.

Now he'd get to spend all the time he wanted around it without those muttonheads getting in the way.

Tuffnut stopped when he reached the cage, looked around cautiously – something he'd always wanted to do – and opened the flap that the Vikings used to feed the dragons. The inside of the pen was pitch black and it stank terribly, but Tuff was used to the smell by now and ignored it. He couldn't see anything. There was a animal whine from inside, and he tensed, ready to jump back if the beast aimed a sudden fireball at his face.

Nothing happened, and he put his hand down and peered inside, looking closer now. It was getting dark now, dusk falling suddenly in the far north, and the moon had been obscured by a cloud, and his human eyesight couldn't see anything in that awful blackness.

He needed a lantern. Did they keep any in the stands? Tuffnut ran off to check. There was a podium where the Chief gave speeches, of course, and beneath that was a room stocked with emergency supplies that Tuff had only been in once. He opened the door and slipped in. It was a pity these places were never locked.

Tuff fumbled and almost tripped over something lying on the floor, steadied himself on the wall and discovered that he'd nearly fallen into a spiked mace. There were hammers arranged neatly on racks and maces laid everywhere, but few spears or swords. The ring wasn't well stocked with weapons at most times, but dragon training had changed things.

Now, where were the lights? Ah. Tuffnut's deft hands felt the sharp outline of a flint and steel, followed by the shape of a wooden lantern and within it, a candle burned down halfway. Nearby were two spares, which he took also.

As daring as Tuffnut was, he wasn't stupid enough to try to strike a flame in there, and he slipped out the door and shut it, making sure everything looked like it had been before. This was theft, he knew. He'd played pranks before, of course, but all out of his own pocket, what little money he had. This was different, and he shuddered, knowing that what he was doing was wrong but also feeling a thrill. Well, it was too late to back down now.

Once he was in the hallway he cupped his hand and brought out the flint and steel, clicked the mechanism with his thumb. There was a rasping sound and sparks flew, once, twice, three times, and a red glow started on the wick of the candle, fighting the breeze and yet slowly growing until it burst into flame.

Tuff's eyes burned from the light and he shielded his face until the pain went away. Dusk had gone now, and the moon was darkened by the flat clouds, only a dull glow towards the east showing where it was. There was a change in the scent of the air, the building musk of rain. No thunder, yet, but there would be a shower during the night. He knew he had to get this over with.

Back to the cage he went, jogging at first but settling to a fast walk because the candle was about to jostle out of its socket and fall, and he couldn't have that. An eerie silence now, not helped by the fact that he could barely see anything outside of the tiny circle of light cast by his lantern.

Was this the one? Tuff almost opened the flap, but there was a low growl from inside and he remembered at the last moment that this was the cage on the wrong side. The Nightmare was in here. No use in getting his face melted off because he'd gotten a bad door. He backed away and went to the opposite side, pushed aside the cowl and looked in.

There was the smell again, worse than last time, but he pushed it away and held up the lantern, letting it illuminate the pen with orange, flickering light. Dragon dung was smeared everywhere. On the walls, and the floor and.. was that some sticking to the ceiling? Best if he didn't look any closer.

The place looked empty, but he knew he'd heard a noise in here. His eyes roamed over the interior, passed over a dark lump on the floor and swiveled back again. Ah. So this was the Stalker. He leaned in more closely, saw how its tail curled up around itself as it tried to conserve heat. This.. this was not what he'd expected.

It didn't look fearsome, only pitiful. How disappointing. Still, it had to have some secrets, something that it wasn't showing him just yet. Razor sharp claws, perhaps, or dread firebreath, or hidden spines? He felt a tug at his heartstrings, as if he felt he should do something but he didn't know what exactly.

If Tuff had been anything like Hiccup, this would've been the moment he would have done something completely stupid and world-changing all at the same time. But he wasn't, so he didn't, and for a while he just stayed there, watching and waiting for what he knew not.

The candle sputtered, breaking the moment, and Tuffnut cursed under his breath, reached for a spare and would have put it in if the creature hadn't looked up at the last moment and caught him in his gaze, whined again, a low, uneasy whine not unlike a dog's. It seemed sad and angry at the same time, resigned but not, as if in its animal mind it expected him to be only another tormentor, come to torture it.

Tuffnut ducked his head and turned away, cowed by this dragon with the eyes that drilled into him unblinkingly, glowing green against the dark walls. Maybe he'd gotten himself into more than he'd bargained for.

So he ran. He didn't call it running, merely making a hasty retreat, yet it was running all the same. He tripped coming up the ramp and the candle spilled out of the lantern and went out. He picked it up and kept going, meaning to run straight across the bridge and all the way back to the village.

Then he realized he still needed to put away the lantern. If a man was hurt during a raid because of his negligence.. well, it wouldn't be pretty, whether or not he confessed. He went back into the room and put up the lamp and the spare candles, then slipped back out and closed the door behind him softly, then hastened onto the bridge.

Wait. There was a man at the far side. Had he seen what had taken place? Tuff's heart went into his mouth. He couldn't run. Whoever it was looked much taller than him and was probably fast enough to catch him before he could get to the forest. So he stepped forward and gulped.

"Say," said Thorvald. "Going somewhere?"

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Let me tell you; I had a blast writing this chapter. This explains why there's actually been an update on time. No apologies here!**

 **The only thing that's bothering me this week is the fact that the college dorms where I sleep in and the actual college itself** **are** **separated by** **at least two hundred yards. And if you live in the U.S midwest you'll know how much snow we're getting. I used to love snow. Now I hate it.**

 **I always take the time to respond to a signed review, no matter how big or small. Remember, it only takes thirty seconds to leave a short one if you should so choose, and I appreciate them greatly.**

 **Your constructive criticism helps the story. As always the review box is down below.**

 **And, if you're interested, I've written several other stories, so don't hesitate to visit my profile and take a look.**

 **Shameless self-promotion over, I'm going to have an interesting week ahead of me and I have some work on my other fics to do, so another update may take as long as two weeks.**

 **Cheers from B. Avar!**


	13. Bad Things Happen

**Disclaimer:** What? HTTYD belongs to Dreamworks? Aw darn.

* * *

It was early the next morning when a shaking Tuffnut made his first attempt at getting back to the dragon pens. He stole out to the arena just after dawn, hoping that no one would be up and he could see the Stalker again.

He had to go back there!

The whole situation smelled of danger and adventure and excitement, and he knew he couldn't resist, that staying away would drive him crazy even as that same Stalker gave him the creeps. Maybe that had been because it was dark, Tuff persuaded himself. In such bad lighting it could've been anything. Yeah, that was it.

But when he came to the bridge a sixth sense told him to stop just as he stepped on the first board. He looked up, and on top of the arena he saw the flickering light of a lantern and just behind it the shape of what could only be a guard.

So that option was out.

Of course, there was more than one way to skin a cat, and he knew it. So he went back to the village to find someone else to bother and perhaps manipulate into letting him conduct his master plan.

The other boys wouldn't be of any help, and he couldn't let them in on what he'd done besides, since they would want to know what he was doing in the arena all of a sudden.

Spitelout was gone, and so was Phlegma. There was Goatlout, but he was just plain stupid and of no use to anybody outside of a fight, though he could be played.

Haldric would see right through him in an instant, so he couldn't be the one. Gobber was wise to most tricks but a bit gullible if he played his cards right and Thorvald was the one who'd caught him in the first place.

There were others; Torenn, who was Astrid's older brother, Wulf, a trader's son who'd decided to overwinter at Berk, and so on. But Torenn knew enough about Tuffnut to figure out that he was up to no good pretty quickly, and of course he was too blunt and honest to help anyway; and Wulf was too old for it.

That left Goatlout and Gobber, and Goatlout didn't have any real authority, which left Gobber, who was the village's de facto leader whenever Stoick went nest hunting.

He could only hope that Thorvald hadn't told him about last night. If he had.. well, Tuff didn't like the odds. He was taking a gamble now, of course, but it could pay off big time.

And as he walked into town he directed his steps straight toward the forge. Gobber was fueling the fire when he arrived.

"Good morning," said Tuffnut, testing the waters. "It's a nice day for a walk."

"A walk, yeh say. Git over here and help me carry this wood; that'll be a better use of yer time than a _walk_." While gruff, Gobber's voice held no sign of hostility.

So Thorvald hadn't told the smith yet. That was exactly what he was counting on, though it was a bit puzzling, because there had been a guard at the arena just now, which meant that Thorvald ought to have told at least somebody.

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm a busy boy."

"I'm a busy man too, and yeh don't see me meandering about and bugging everyone else now do yeh?"

Tuffnut raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I'll help you."

"Really?"

"Sure. Beats gagging the crows."

Gobber let loose a guffaw. "So it was you that did it. I should've known."

The two set to work, and it was only when there was a handy stack of hardwood leaning against the wall and the fire was burning hotly by the bellows did they stop, basking in the warmth from the forge.

"Thank yeh. I don't like ta' admit it but I'm gettin' old. Yer not one for hard work like this; what makes yeh help me out on this fair morning when yeh could just as easily be playing in the woods?"

Tuffnut shrugged.

"You, actually. When I finished cleaning the dragon pens yesterday I felt a sense of accomplishment, and I'm rethinking things. Maybe I should be more responsible, settle down a little."

Gobber nodded, not quite believing him. The idea of Tuffnut being responsible was simply too farfetched. "What's more likely is that yeh helped me in order to get out of cleaning the dragon pens today. Is that right or am I right?"

"No. Can I do that full-time?"

"….. What?"

"Can I clean the dragon pens full-time?"

".."

If Gobber hadn't been so blindsided by Tuffnut's request, perhaps; if he'd just thought through the question a little more maybe he would've seen it for what it really was. But he had been, so he didn't, and in his mind Tuff doing it meant that he wouldn't have to cudgel some unlucky Viking into doing the task, which was always a pain.

"Gobber? Gobber?"

Gobber blinked, looked down at the tall boy.

"Sure. Just don't go in the arena without an adult around, and don't open any of the cages if yeh think there might be a dragon in it. And there will have to be a guard sometimes, just to make sure yeh don't get up ta' any shenanigans."

"Okay. I can do that."

For some reason Gobber had a bad feeling about this. Still, Tuffnut settling down couldn't be a bad thing, could it? As he rattled off what he expected from the boy his expression stayed the same, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that the smith couldn't quite place.

"Alright. After I get done this morning I probably won't get anything done for a few days because of the weekend," said Tuff.

"Sounds good."

Still, thought Gobber as the kid left, he had a giant grin on his face, and that never boded well.

But on that crisp morning there was hardly anyone to notice Tuffnut's smile, mostly because Tuffnut had taken great pains not to be noticed as he wandered about the byways of the village, his heart nearly bursting with pride.

Now that he had gone from 'Tuffnut, mischief maker' to 'Tuffnut, professional dragon pen cleaner', he had a plausible excuse to be in the arena whenever he wanted; as long as he did the work at the end of the day, he was in the clear.

It was a good day for a walk.

He breakfasted in the great hall, having a bowl of thick soup and _two_ slices of bread when he would ordinarily only get one. It was fall, which meant harvest season, and maybe the cooks were being liberal with the food supply even after the autumn feast, and he decided to go berrying in the forest that afternoon to make up for having to clean the dragon pens.

He saw Ruffnut when he left, still in line, and she saw him, but before she could give chase he darted off to the arena to get the work over with. The guard had left, but it was daytime and he set to work.

It was dirty and smelly and it didn't take long before he stunk almost worse than the poop he was shoveling – goodness, maybe he'd take the time to clean his tunic after this, which he almost never did because when it came to hygiene he was even lazier than his sister. But then he was riper than a rotten watermelon at this point.

The Nightmare growled at him from its cage, as it always did, but he didn't mind that, even kicked the door when things got too boring. He was mostly done by then, and though he had to go back into town to get a bucket of water to soap down the walls he borrowed a little for himself, and then he felt somewhat better.

It was just before noon when he finished up work and he headed off to the men's bathing pool to wash himself off, drawing more than a few looks and whispers as he scrubbed his clothing. If Tuffnut cleaning himself was enough for people to stop and stare maybe he had a worse reputation than he'd thought.

Oh well. He wrung out his tunic and headed off, up the stream that fed the pools and into the forest. He knew the spring where the stream came from, knew how to get there by heart and also knew that the woods around it were filled with raspberries and blackberries and all sorts of mushrooms – most of them having the good fortune not to be poisonous, though Tuff had eaten one that was once and it wasn't pretty.

There were thorns, of course, but he knew how to get around them, and pretty soon he'd filled up his stomach and started looking for something else to do until dusk. He never knew what he'd find, wandering like this. Sometimes it was as simple as a nest or an animal track, other times he stumbled upon a den of raccoons or even a porcupine.

Today he wasn't looking for anything in particular, just wanted to keep away from Ruffnut for a while, so he headed deeper into the forest, going around the base of the giant mountain that sat at the heart of the island, climbing trees and chucking rocks at birds until he was tired – he didn't hit anything, but that was because they knew him by now and didn't come too close.

Clouds rolled in, puffy at first, looking like nothing so much as a dandelion head when it is packed with seeds, but they grew in size until they merged together and then it was overcast, but there was no rain yet. It smelled like there would be rain, a musky smell that competed with the salty tang of the ocean for dominance in the air, but the scent of the sea was still holding strong, and as long as it did there would be no showers.

Darkness came early these days, and Tuff knew that if he was still out in the woods after nightfall he wouldn't be able to get back until morning, and then he would be wasting a chance to get at the Stalker. So he started walking back to the village.

It was late when he got to the edge of the forest, almost dusk but not quite, and he was so busy thinking about what he would do when he got in the arena for a second time that he didn't notice his sister coming towards him until she was practically in his face and by then it was too late.

She looked angry and Tuffnut could guess just who she was angry at. Him.

"Where were you all day! I woke up this morning to find that you were gone entirely -"

"Uh -" Tuffnut scratched the back of his head, but Ruffnut didn't stop yelling at him.

"Then I see you at the great hall but you run away from me and I couldn't find you all afternoon. Then I heard that you'd gone into the woods without me and I headed to all your favorite spots and I didn't see a thing -"

"It's not that big of a village. Didn't you think to check in the arena? I had to clean up one of the dragon pens because of Gobber's punishment, remember?"

"And you actually did that instead of goofing off like you always do."

"… Yes."

"Of all the days for you to actually get the job done on time you chose today. Brilliant. For all I knew you'd hurt yourself in the woods and couldn't get back home."

"Aw. It's nice to know that you care," said Tuffnut.

Ruff punched him in the chest and Tuff punched her back.

"Fistfight!"

Once they'd bruised themselves properly they headed home, not wanting to get caught out after dark without the light of the moon to guide them. Tuff had been able to keep his true purpose from his sister so far, and he hoped that she wouldn't pick up on it until.. well, whenever he had time to reveal it to her.

"Looks like there's going to be a storm tonight." said Tuff.

"No raids then. At least that's a good thing."

"So," she said. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Hiding?"

"Yes, hiding. You're acting weird today and I know there's a good reason for it."

"You're my sister. You know I don't hide things from you."

"Okay. What about the time you put a deadfall trap in front of Spitelout's door without telling me and then Snotlout tried to hang me up by my entrails because he nearly impaled himself."

"Well, that's an isolated -"

"And what about the time you almost fell off a cliff because you were trying to walk a tightrope blindfolded -"

"Danger is what we stand for, c'mon -"

"Not something that idiotic. And the time you picked a fight with an older warrior just because you were convinced you had magic powers -"

"He didn't beat me all that badly."

Ruffnut gave him a look and went on. "And the time you were trying to get me adopted -"

"Look -"

"And the hundred times you almost killed yourself, and the fifty times you almost killed me, and all the times people have tried to kill you because you've ruined their houses – do I need to go on here?"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm reckless."

"No, the moral is that whenever you keep things from me, bad stuff happens. Tell me what you're hiding."

"Fine. But you have to solemnly swear an oath on the Gods and promise me that you'll never, ever, ever, ever tell anyone ever what I'm about to tell you."

"Then I solemnly swear by Baldr, Loki, Freya, Tyr, Thor and Odin that I will never tell anyone else what you are about to tell me. That is a binding oath and I promise that I will not break it. What's making you like this again?"

"I'm visiting the Stalker."

"Really? That's it? You made me swear all that just for a dragon? What a joke."

"No. There's something about it that… that I can't comprehend. You've got to see it for yourself. That's why I'm cleaning the dragon pens full time now, to give me an opportunity to get in there."

Ruffnut sighed. "Alright, but just one time. This is a harebrained scheme even by our standards and there could be some big consequences if we get caught."

"Consequences. I didn't know you knew such a big word."

"Shut up. Besides, I was startled into intelligence by the fact you're actually serious."

There was a comfortable pause.

"So, when are we going?"

"Tonight."

They were entering the outskirts of the village now, getting close to the great hall where they would get their dinner.

Then there was a purple flash to the east and then a sharp boom that echoed from the side of the mountain and then smoke began to rise in a wispy column.

"Gods," whispered Tuffnut. "It's the arena."

* * *

 **A** **N:**

 **Hey guys! It's been exactly a month since I posted the last update, which I am sorry for, but I was busy and there was enough college work to be done that I couldn't get around to writing for a while.**

 **I don't know if any of you have seen cdnchrgr's update to Disturbed Reflections. I'm sure some of you have. He said not to get too caught up in follows and faves, that each of those little numbers represents an individual.**

 **Are we too concerned with popularity as a whole that we have forgotten to be original, scared that we will lose follows and faves? Some of you will remember that I was once, in chapter 11 when I made an angry Hiccup. That is a sin I hope you will forgive me for.**

 **I asked my friend DRF about it** **once. He said not to worry, just to keep writing. And that is what I will do.**

 **Cheers!**

 **Changelog:**

 **May 1st, 2019. Made some small changes to the dialogue between Ruff and Tuff; altered bits of prose.**


	14. Jailbreak

**AN:**

 **As of Saturday, the day of writing, this story has just reached 10,000 views. I am very grateful to all of you who've stayed with the story thus far for your incredible support.**

 **I'd just like to say that stuff goes down in this chapter, as you've probably seen from its title. Read the** **Authors Note I've placed at the bottom once you've finished reading the update if you want to know more.** **That is all.**

 **Written March 19th - 23rd 2019.**

 **Changelog: None.**

* * *

I woke up to the sound of someone else in my head once more. This was becoming a trend.

" _Good morning, little one."_

" _Oh, it's_ you _again."_

There was a sigh from the other dragon. _"_ _My offer still stands."_

" _I won't take it,"_ I said. _"_ _It would be betraying my tribe."_

" _They w_ _ill_ _kill you anyway."_

" _Weell,_ _maybe they wouldn't."_

It was a game of deception. I had to make that Dark One think I was coming around to the idea of an escape. He didn't know that that was what I was after in the first place, and then; revenge.

" _It is true._ _Everything I_ _have_ _told you is true._ _I'm offering you a new life far better than that of your old."_

" _And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"_ I asked, still playing the part of a skeptic.

" _Freedom."_

Liar.

" _I don't bel-"_

" _Freedom surpassing your wildest dreams. The_ _ability_ _to go anywhere you want, far removed from oppression. I have_ _given you wings; now you must use them."_

" _This sounds a lot like a sales pitch."_

" _Except you have no choice in the matter."_

" _Very funny._ _But maybe it's just my imagination, maybe it's something else, but right now I don't feel very free. Does that have anything to do with the fact that I've been stuck in a cage for the last week now?_ _And let me tell you, it doesn't smell very good in here."_

" _I'll blast you out. You_ _will_ _never have to be imprisoned again."_

" _Yes, but the wonders you might give me sometime in the faerie future don't change the fact that you've ruined my life in the present."_

Another sigh from the Night Fury. Did he really have to be so melodramatic?

" _You_ _are_ _being too short-sighted_ _for your own good._ _I_ _have_ _given you the gift of a lifetim_ _e!_ _Now you can grasp it with both claws and fly with me - or I can leave you here to rot. Your choice."_

" _And you're not going to eat me?"_

" _No. That is absurd."_

" _Riight._ _So_ _I don't have anything to fear from you_ _once I get out?"_

" _No."_

" _Fine. I'll take it. But you and me are going to have a long tal_ _k,_ _buddy._ _"_

" _Amusing threats."_

" _I'm serious."_

" _You think you are._ _When I tell you to stand back, stand back. I wouldn't want you to be caught in the explosion when I blow this door."_

" _Wait."_

" _Why?"_

" _Would you have to kill anyone, doing this?"_

" _There is a sentry I would have to eliminat_ _e, since I cannot be seen."_

" _And by eliminate you mean get rid of._ _Please, don't._ _Knock him out, maybe, but don't kill him._ _At least give me that._ _"_

" _Fine. If it makes you more cooperative, weakling,_ _then I will wait_ _until he leaves."_

" _I_ _object to you calling me a weakling."_

" _You are a Dark One now,_ _uplifted_ _and not subject to petty two-leg squabbles such as honor._ _Remember that you are infinitely greater than them. You should be glad that I have selected_ _you for such a noble uplifting._ _If you_ _are uncomfortable with the mere idea of killing a human then you are lost."_

" _I didn't ask to be 'uplifted', so cut me some slack here._ _What you see is what you get._ _Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting_ _some sleep, because I'm currently running on_ _twelve hours of it in the last forty-eight."_

A lie, of course. I'd had more than that, but the Dark One didn't know it, and getting a little extra couldn't hurt.

My sarcastic side would be proud of that one.

' _I sure am. You flipped the bird at_ him, _showing up that stuffy nincompoop like it's nothing.'_

' _For once I actually agree with you.'_

A pause.

' _Don't rub it in.'_

There wasn't much to do inside that little cell except.. well, sleep, and I dozed for what I though was an hour before I heard a scraping noise out-of-doors not unlike that of a shovel.

" _The guard's gone, but one of the other two-legs has come and is cleaning out the enclosures._ _If he keeps up that petty scratching I'm going to kill him."_

" _Don't bother."_

" _Why these humans even_ _take the time for such things is beyond me. Obviously they'd have to do less work if they weren't constantly taking care of their mortal enemies."_

" _It's for training."_

" _It is pointless."_

" _I don't think so."_

" _There's a limit to how long I can wait. If this takes too long I_ will _vaporize him."_

" _If you don't like it you can take a na_ _p. It'd be just like you."_

The other dragon became rather quiet.

' _Is it just me, or is he following your advice?'_ asked Mr. Sarcastic.

' _Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. I hope he isn't, because it doesn't exactly smell like fresh flowers in here.'_

' _Being sarcastic is my job_ _.'_

' _Says you.'_

I spent the next few hours curled up in the corner, not able to more than doze for fear that I'd stretch and shove my face into a clod. Soon, I reminded myself, soon, I would be out of here, and then it would be good-bye to my village and everyone I knew whether I liked it or not. The last chance I had to be redeemed in the eyes of my village – if that was even possible – and I was spending it on revenge.

For a moment I wondered if that was worth it. I could still go back, still refuse the Fury's offer. But then I realized that even if I hadn't been angry, didn't want to stab him in the back, I would still take it, because that was my only option for survival. I didn't want to sacrifice myself for an ideal; I didn't want to be the best Viking any more, because I wasn't, and I never had been.

What was the saying? Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I think, and never so apt an idiom has ever been coined since it was invented.

Whoever was cleaning the pens outside quit at what I thought to be about noon and left, but the Night Fury didn't talk to me. Maybe he didn't want to talk to me, or maybe he was taking a nap like I'd told him to, I didn't know.

I really needed a name for him, something easier to say or think of than 'Dark One' or 'Night Fury' or even 'The dragon who ruined my life'.

I would have to ask him, then, ask him his name as well as other questions. Why me? Out of all the men and women and children of the entire archipelago why had he chosen me? Did he see some quality in me that I could not? How had he done this? - Could I ever go back to normalcy?

Why did he need me, and why had he not simply packed up and flown off after I'd cut him free? Why, I asked myself, had he not killed me when we'd first met? Unless it was a she, which was too awkward to contemplate, so I wasn't going to.

My mind wandered, and I thought of Stormfly, who I hoped was alright. She'd seemed nice enough, once I got to know her; helpful and kind one minute, playfully infuriating the next. I hadn't heard anything from her since she'd been hit on the head with that club, nor anything from the rest of the dragons, who were quiet. Maybe unnaturally so.

And then there was Tuffnut, who'd peeked into my cage with his very own eyes at a time when I'd been too down to care about anything that went on in the realm of my old life. But the look I'd given him must've scared all the daring out of his body, because the last I'd seen of my former rival, tormentor and contemporary was him running out of the ring at full speed.

Maybe he'd been found out for his exploits, although I doubted it. Tuff could be very sneaky when he wanted to, more so than anyone would've imagined knowing his boisterous nature.

I thought of my father, who had surely reached Helheim's gate by now and was probably duking it out with the dragons as I sat here in this cage and rotted. Maybe if I'd been a little less stupid my last words to him wouldn't have been so meaningless. He didn't know what had happened to me, couldn't know, and by the time he got home I'd be either dead or escaped.

But I didn't think of him as my real father anyhow, not when it was Gobber who had sheltered me, fed me, taught me and clothed me for more than a decade, and he had abandoned me as well when he'd stamped out of the ring that cold, dreary day that seemed so long ago now but was really only four days in the past.

All this because of a Night Fury – and also my lack of common sense, though I wouldn't admit that to anyone else.

'What happens after you kill the bastard?', whispered a little voice in the back of my head, 'what then?', but I squashed it. Besides, there was a good chance I'd die trying. No point worrying about the future when my very existence was threatened in the present, and I'd had enough of the voices besides.

So the hours passed in thought, and when at last the Dark One spoke to me again the shadows outside the door were drawing longer and it was getting dark and overcast, and sudden coolness coming over the air; perhaps we were getting a storm.

" _Whoever was cleaning the dragon pens is gone now,"_ said he.

" _He has been for some time, which leads me to suspect that you were taking a nap."_

" _No.. Hunting. I'm on my way to you now."_

" _Thank the Gods I'll be out of here soon."_

" _Yes, but make sure you_ _are not_ _caught in the explosion when I blow th_ _e_ _door._ _Get in one of the far corners."_

" _I already am."_

" _Good. Curl up into a ball and cover your ears when I tell you to._ _This_ _will be loud."_

I waited a moment.

" _Don't hurt me any more than you already have."_

" _You_ _a_ _re worth more than you_ _think_ _._ _The most you should be harmed is if a splinter finds its way under one of your scales_ _if you follow my instructions,_ _though that_ _is_ _not likely."_

" _I vote 'no confidence'."_

No response. Typical. It was as if I didn't matter to him as a person, was only an object to be used for his own gain. So I was worth more than I thought, eh?

" _I'm in."_

There was a thump outside as a large mass hit the ground, his talons clicking as he stepped towards the door I was in as if he'd known where I was the whole time, and he probably had.

" _Surround your body with your wings and make yourself as small as possible,"_ he said.

It was uncomfortable and somewhat strange to figure out, but I managed to wrap my third set of limbs around myself tightly enough that I felt safer. It was an odd feeling, as if my arms had been split into two sets of limbs, except one set was on my back where I couldn't see it properly and the other felt more like legs.

" _I'm ready."_

" _No, no you are_ not _."_

And with that ominous warning I heard a whine coming from outside the pen that sounded almost like a winch when someone takes off the block and lets it unspool too fast, only much louder and much faster, as if for a moment the very air was being sucked into the Night Fury.

And then the world exploded. Even with my eyes screwed shut I could still see a white flash as the ephemeral bolt hit the steadfast oak on the other side and ripped it apart. Tiny splinters ricocheted everywhere and pierced my wings like so many needles while my head rung like a bell.

Was it over? When I could see again I felt that I was stumbling around like a blind man relieved of his cane, my legs losing all consistency as I slowly sank to the ground, tiny fragments stuck in my scales that hurt like hell.

Most of the door had been eviscerated. Vaporized. Shattered. The metal bands which protected it against ordinary dragon fire had been twisted, warped and in some places bent double by the force of the blast, while what was left of it hung on a single hinge, charred and blackened by sheer heat.

Smoke hung thick in the air, but some of it was blowing out of the open pen and rising into the sky, where it would doubtless be seen by the villagers.

" _C'mon, let's go!"_

A strong claw grabbed me by the arm and I winced, cried out in pain even as the Night Fury swung me onto his back and ran for it, jumping onto one of the weapon racks before ducking through the iron netting of the kill ring and running for the woods, strong muscles moving under me as he headed straight for the chasm which separated the arena from Berk proper.

" _You're not going to try to jump over that, right?_ _We're_ _gonna take the bridge, right – You're not going to.._ _AA_ _AA_ _H!"_

The Night Fury jumped, and for a terrifying moment the only thing between myself and the breakers far below was air and faith before he slammed into the other wall, fell short but scrambled upwards with sharp talons as I struggled to hold on, clawing the turf before he finally made it to solid ground.

Then we were loping toward the forest as a cry went up from the village, but by then it was too late. I was out. Finally I was free again, and for a moment I felt almost thankful to the dragon who'd gotten me out before I remembered that it was him who'd gotten me into this debacle in the first place.

'It's unlikely that you'll get hurt by the splinters.' Yeah right.

But first things first, I had few questions.

" _What's your name?_ _You know my name but I don't know yours."_

The Night Fury was still running at this point, only now he had climbed into the trees and was jumping from bough to bough with surprising alacrity even for a dragon as 'small' as him.

" _Dornoshti'okiogiliester."_

" _What?"_

" _Dornoshti'okiogiliester, but if you cannot pronounce it yet you can call me Dorn."_

" _O_ _ka_ _y_ _. What about Toothless?"_

" _No."_

" _Fine._ _It's a long name. Hiccup is much better."_

" _I think human names are ridiculous._ _My name has a meaning, but since you're being_ _so annoying I won't tell it to you."_

At this I felt satisfaction.

" _How something so ugly could have a meaning is beyo_ _nd me."_

Dorn stopped and shoved me onto a tree branch.

" _I'm going to make something clear_ _before we go any further._ _Do_ _not_ _make fun of my name._ _Do_ _not_ _make fun of Dark Ones, and_ _learn proper respect_ _when talking to your elders_ _."_

" _I don't like you, and seeing things are the way they are, we can agr_ _ee to disagree."_

" _No, we cannot._ _I didn't have to rescue you._ _I_ _could leave you here if I wanted to. You wouldn't last a week out here and you know it, not in the condition you are in._ _Unless your former friends kill you first._ _"_

" _I_ _still don't like you._ _It's_ _as if_ _you popped out_ _of your egg and started acting like an old man_ _right from the get-go."_

" _No, I did not. I used to be like you once."_

" _Really?"_ I asked, too interested by this to invest in my usual snark.

" _Yes._ _M_ _any_ _Dark Ones_ _were made that way._ _My father was one. All but one of my brothers_ _were born in such a manner."_

" _Then where are all the Night Furies?"_

Dorn said nothing, and for the first time he appeared at a loss for words as if there was something he didn't want to tell me, naturally.

" _I don't know."_

That was a lie. Maybe he was so full of himself that he didn't tell lies very often and so was bad at it when he did. What he was saying was an untruth, but I didn't want to push him any farther. After all, my life was on the line, though if he was willing to lie to me now I wondered what else he'd lied to me about.

" _Touchy subject,_ _I see._ _Where are we going?"_

" _Behind the mountain. The people of y_ _our old tribe don't go there_ _much, from what I could smell_ _."_

" _For_ _good reason._ _The slopes are steep and hazardous, especially after a rain. And if I'm not mistaken,_ _it's currently overcast and_ _there's about to be a storm."_

" _It will be tricky, but it is the safest place on the island."_

" _Why can't you just.. fly away? I'm small enough for you to take on your back."_

Dorn held up his tail.

" _What's that got to do with – Oh."_

" _Whoever shot me down damaged my tailfin, badly. It will heal, but that will take time. Until then I cannot fly,_ _only glide."_

I didn't tell him that I was the one who'd done the deed, though he probably knew it already because I'd left my scent all over the ropes. But if he didn't know then I wouldn't tell him.

" _Okay."_

He pulled me onto his back again and set off, expertly skirting dead trees and never touching the ground once. This far from shore the sea breeze was lighter than usual, and for the first time in days I could see the beautiful autumn leaves as Dorn leaped over branch after branch. Once there was a gap and I could see the treetops, but then we were into pine country, with its sticky resin and tangy scent of evergreen needles, and the sight was gone.

" _I have another question."_

" _Ask."_

" _When I was in the arena I was talking with the Zippleback and he told me that I didn't speak the language,_ _but I'm talking to you right now._ _Why's that?"_

" _What you and I are using is different from_ _regular dragon speech._ _It is a more formal way of dialogue, often used to communicate over distances that sound cannot broach,_ _more a network of ideas and images than words, though your mind, limited as it is at the moment, cannot comprehend the complexity of it. We call it the Auror."_

" _I'm guessing that name also has a meaning in dragon speak that I'm completely missing."_

" _Yes."_

" _And I'm also guessing that my disrespect_ _towards you in the Auror is magnified by its formal nature."_

" _Yes."_

" _Interesting."_

" _That is just the basics of the real thing, although there are some who would misuse that method for their own gain."_

" _Like who?"_

Another pause, this one longer than the first.

" _Others. I will only say that they do not have_ _dragon-kind's_ _best interest at heart._ _I will teach you more in time."_

I didn't like this Dorn, hated him, in fact, but my curiosity betrayed me when it came to these new concepts to which I had never been exposed to before, and I was hooked.

' _You always were too inquisitive for your own good,'_ said my sarcastic side, and I told him to shut up, quieter this time so Dorn didn't hear me.

" _How long until we_ _get to_ _where you're going_ _?"_ I asked.

" _Not long."_

And true to Dorn's word it was less than five minutes later that he stopped and lowered himself from the trees carefully until he was on a rocky plateau about forty feet wide and thirty long. There was an old streambed close by, though it had very little water in it and the bottom was filled with gravel and the dirt near it smelled like something dead.

There was a steep hill above us and below us and around us, and the place looked like it was due for a rockslide any time now, but there was a small hollow at the back of the place, made larger by Dorn's scrapings – for I could see claw marks on the wall -, and here was a small bit of shelter that was presumably out of the wet and damp.

Beyond the high table ground there was only a sharp decline and conifer trees all the way down, looking rather tiny even though I knew most of them were at least sixty feet tall and stout. Up here there was little on the ground save for the usual forest litter – small leaves and pine needles and bits of dead brush – little things like that. But about five hundred yards uphill there was a meadow and a patch of lush, green grass that looked inviting even in the rapidly darkening dusk light.

" _So,"_ I said. _"What's next?"_

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys! I had a blast writing this and I hope you had a blast reading it as well. So Hiccup has finally gotten busted out by Toothless (Dorn), and what follows I think will be awesome. The fic has started moving again and I'm rather proud of what I've accomplished so far.**

 **Next up - The villagers are not going to be happy. We'll see what happens next update.**

 **If you haven't already, please write a review in the review box down below and tell me what you think. It makes my day and I really appreciate it because it means that A. You guys are interacting with the story and possibly enjoying it, and B. I'm getting feedback that helps me avoid my mistakes.**

 **Speaking of which, if you spotted any grammatical errors or typos please tell me. I appreciate it a lot, because I can only do so much and a few things are always going to slip through.**

 **It only takes a small portion of your time to write down what your thoughts. Please consider it.**

 **Cheers! B. Avar.**

 **Published March 24th, 2019.**


	15. Nightfall

**AN:**

 **First off, many thanks to 7sky for reading the story from scratch and leaving his reviews. I do read them all, even the flames.**

 **I'd also like to say that I am immensely grateful to all of you who bothered to follow this story. I've never had a story this successful before. I.. honestly don't know what to say (besides this).**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned HTTYD, Toothless wouldn't be so awkward at romance.**

* * *

" _Hunt. That is what I will do next._ _You have not been getting enough food."_ said Dorn.

" _I'm glad to know that somebody cares."_

" _.."_ Silence.

" _Wait, you're not going right_ now _, are you?"_

Dorn spun on his heels and disappeared into the brush. There was the rumbling of thunder and it began to drizzle, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a forest that was beginning to look creepier by the second. Oh joy.

The hollow was protection enough against the weather for a while, at least until pools formed on the floor and the dry earth turned into a moist muck that clung to my scales and felt worse than if I'd been out in the rain, sapping the heat from my body like a gritty leech.

Obviously I wasn't going anywhere. One misstep while I was exploring the rocks and I'd tumble down the slope, a fall long enough to give me a broken leg at least or kill me if I was unlucky. I didn't want to be unlucky.

So I kept still, finding that my adrenaline rush from being rescued had worn off and I felt miserable, especially when water started dripping from the roof and landing in my ears. The first time it happened it scared me silly, and I thrashed around in terror as I tried to get away from my unseen assailant before I realized that it was just an ordinary droplet.

The second time it happened was a surprise, but by the third time it was an annoyance and later I covered my head with my wings, which was painful for a reason I didn't expect.

I had a splinter, and just where I couldn't get it too, where my third set of limbs met my body about at the place where my arm muscles would've been if I'd stayed a Viking, and when I tried to get it out I couldn't quite reach the spot. Rubbing it against the wall just pushed the shard farther in, and the mud felt gungy and not at all nice.

Much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, I would have to ask Dorn to pull it out when he got back with some food.

Which I would have to eat. Raw. Assuming that he caught anything in the first place. My stomach growled and I wished that he would get a kill, and then I remembered myself and I wished that he wouldn't.

I spent an indeterminable amount of time like that, hungry and cold and wet and griping to my sarcastic side about life, and it was about now that I wished I hadn't taken that nap, because I couldn't get to sleep, only doze, and I wished that I _could_ sleep because I didn't want to bear the night like that, fearing every drip and every plop of rain falling to the forest floor from a leaf. Assuming that Night Furies weren't nocturnal, which was a sobering thought.

Eventually I heard a noise, an odd noise at first, one I struggled to hear over the wind and the weather, but it grew louder until I knew it as the rustling of something being dragged through the brush, something heavy. Dorn had come back, and he'd brought something.

I couldn't see anything, and thus I was surprised when he dropped a lukewarm mass on my forepaws which was coated in what felt like feathers. Probably because they were feathers. Not to mention that the air suddenly smelled like blood.

" _Eat."_

He wasn't actually going to have me – have me do _that,_ right?

" _How?"_

" _Tear away the skin and eat_ _."_

Wrong.

I could feel him glaring at me even though I didn't know where he was. Maybe this was a rite of passage or something.

My body felt frozen in place, but, as if compelled by the other dragon's sheer will, I extended my claws and reached out, touched the rapidly cooling bird which was probably a turkey or some other fowl. Was. Had been.

" _Go on."_

A single talon met its warm body. I hesitated, pushed and punctured the protective layer, met the soft flesh inside and winced. It felt almost like… like – I didn't want to think about that.

" _I can't._ _I can't do it."_

" _Disappointing."_

I pulled away from the fowl, shivering, and not from the cold. There was a ripping sound, a sodden splat as the hide was torn away and fell to the ground, Dorn butchering the animal with ruthless efficiency.

Then I felt a scaled paw touch my face, and a moment later I scented flesh, my mouth watering against my will as my new form found something it wanted. Dorn pushed insistently.

" _This is food; open your mouth."_

I was fighting myself at that point, knowing that what I was about to do was yet another betrayal and yet helpless to ignore my baser instincts; the old Hiccup against my dragon side.

Then Dorn pinched my nose and I gasped. The dragon side won. I opened my gullet and he shoved it in.

It was slick and cool by now, but it didn't taste… bad. That scared me.

" _Swallow."_

How was I supposed to do that without.. chewing – it reached the back of my mouth and a reflex kicked in. My head went up and I swallowed the meat whole, skin, feathers and all.

" _Gah!"_

I sputtered, but the deed was done. My stomach growled against my will.

" _More."_

The second bite was easier than the first; the courage had gone out of me, and I ate like a dog until I was full and Dorn gave me no more.

Then I fell asleep.

* * *

Chaos. For a brief moment that was all that remained when that purple flash went up from the kill ring and the sound of the explosion could be heard on the other side of the island.

Gobber was in the forge when it happened, hammering out a series of new spearheads for the war effort. His first reaction, honed by years of dragon raids, was to don his armor and his weapons and run to the arena, joined by twenty of Berk's best remaining warriors.

"Look!" said Thorvald when they had entered the ring. One of the cages had been turned into a charred, smoking ruin, the hardy, reinforced door blown clear off its hinges, the iron bands warped and twisted by the force of the blast.

"It's destroyed!"

"Nay! It's cratered. That and the explosion's color – only a Night Fury could have done this."

That much was instantly clear to all present.

"And the smell! The air feels almost like a place struck by lightning. I know that scent."

"Only Fury fire has that indigo light. It may still be around; keep your eyes peeled and don't forget to look up."

"Only one of those monsters would be clever enough to do this; see here, the other cages are untouched. What was it looking for?"

"The Stalker was in this cage, wasn't it? How'd it get in without busting the gate?"

"It _was_ in here, but now it isn't."

"I can't find neither hide nor hair of any dragon in here. Looks like it's flown the coop," said Haldric.

That set off a flurry of speculation as to where it could've gone.

"I didn't know it could fly."

"I don' think it can. Maybe the Nigh' Fury carried it off on its back or something."

"We'll never find it now. That thing's probably long gone."

"Good riddance."

"Hey! Come see what I found! Dragon tracks!"

They all rushed over to have a look.

"The ground's still wet. Look here – they lead off towards the forest. Maybe we still have a chance to catch it."

"They're not Stalker prints. They're too far apart and bunched up – the Fury must've been running."

"Night Furies don't _land_. Humph, shows what you know."

"Maybe it had a tail injury and couldn't fly?"

"What hurt it? Those things are untouchable."

"It could've gotten hit during a raid by an arrow or something. Shrapnel from its own fireball or something similar."

"That makes tha' most sense," said Gobber.

"It'd have to leap the chasm between the islands if it wanted to get across, going that way."

"Maybe it took the bridge?"

"I didn't see any prints on it when we came, did you?"

"Follow the trail and we'll see."

Not hard, seeing as the moist dirt showed the path of the fleeing dragon as if it were outlined in charcoal, long rents in the grass where the Fury's sharp claws had punctured the turf.

Claws that could just as easily slit a man's throat. The cool evening air felt chilled and the gathering mist became more ominous. Gobber didn't like the thought.

Sure enough, the tracks led straight to the gap between the islet and Berk, where the paws seemed to gather themselves up for a tremendous jump just before the earth fell away to the forbidding rocks far below. The ambient crashing of the sea was never far away, but it seemed stronger here.

On the opposite bank were long, raking scratch marks where the dragon had tried to pull itself up; the soil shredded by scrabbling talons.

"Did it make it?"

"Only one way ta' find out. We'll have ta' go around to the other side."

So they did, and when they came back to the spot they found that the tracks picked up again and went towards the forest at a lope.

"No dragon would ever head for the confines of a wood if it could fly," said Haldric, stating the obvious. "- but there's no blood trail. The injury is not recent, then, which means that if it's still grounded there is little chance it will heal."

"Good. Now all that remains is to hunt it down and kill it. No other tribe has a the head of a Night Fury," said Thorvald, ever the boastful one.

"Aye, we'd be the first," said Gobber. "but there would be a heavy cost in lives. It's trapped. That makes it more deadly, and we know that it's dangerous at the best of times. We don't know wha' it looks like and we don't know its habits, where it goes, how it hunts, how it behaves or its intelligence. We don't know its size; though the tracks give us an inkling of how long it is we don't know how tall or how wide it might be."

"And it's getting dark," said Haldric. "If I'm not mistaken it will rain tonight. That will wash away the prints, so be sure to remember what they look like, so that if you see them again you will recognize them, even in bad lighting or at a glance."

"We'll have to keep people out of the woods, too. We know it doesn't eat men – but if it gets desperate..."

There was no need to finish that sentence.

"The little ones especially. The gods know how precious the children are, even our adolescents."

"They're our future."

Hard truth.

"Then we will have to be rid of it before it can become a thorn in our sides. The village is fragile enough as it is."

Another hard truth. Berk was a paper tiger these days, only fending off the raids through dint of powerful leadership and sheer will; they didn't need another crisis.

A droplet hit Gobber's nose.

"Damn. Looks like it's starting to drizzle. If we leave tonight we'll lose the trail," he said.

"Should we follow it into the forest – see where it goes?"

"Why not?" asked Thorvald. "I brought my coat. Most of us did."

"We don't have enough light and going back ta' Berk for a lantern would take too long."

"There ought to be one in the kill-ring storeroom. Stoick liked to have them around for emergencies."

"Well, if this isn't an emergency I don't know what is. I'll get it for yeh," said Gobber.

It didn't take long to find it, only whoever had used it last had used up the candle inside and left the spares lying all over the place, so Gobber put in a new one and returned to the rest of the group during the dying light of dusk.

For a moment there was a brilliant flash as the sun filled the gap between the clouds and the sea, but then it had sunk beneath the horizon and there was only a pink, diffused glow reflecting off of the clouds before that too faded away.

Gobber thumbed the flint and steel, igniting the wick. The flame sputtered and coughed as it fought the wet mist, then rose, casting a dim circle of light in which he could just make out the dragon tracks.

"If anyone wants to go home, this is yer last chance ta' get back at a reasonable hour."

Only one man decided to leave; the rest elected to press on.

Sure enough, the prints led into the woods – and promptly disappeared.

"Where'd it go?" asked Haldric, as puzzled by this as everyone else was. Dragons didn't just disappear; it wasn't in their nature.

Or it could be following them as they fumbled about blindly in the dark, waiting to land a killing blow. They were called 'Night' Furies for a good reason.

No one would admit it, but chasing it in the dark gave them the creeps.

"Hullo – what's this?" said Thorvald.

Ahead of them stood a large, elderly oak, only much of the bark had been mangled and ripped away by sharp talons that had left deep rents in the wood.

"I can't believe it… a dragon of that size shouldn't be able to climb – but this one did."

"Another thing to add to the list of what we didn't think dragons can't do but somehow do anyway."

"There's no chance of finding it now, not tonight."

"You've said that before."

"This time it's true."

"He's right. Wherever it is, we can't track it down from here," said Gobber. "It's time to go in. We'll have to send out a search party tomorrow morning and hope for the best. Watch your step as you head back – I won't have anyone fall off that cliff on my watch."

"Are you returning the lantern?"

"Nay. Coming back across the bridge without a light would be almost suicide. Sometimes I wish we hadn't built it so rickety."

There was a tired laugh from all around as they turned around and headed for the sparse lights of the village, which flickered because of the rain. Thankfully it looked like someone had lit a candle for them as a beacon.

By the time Gobber got back to the forge he was cold and wet, and he dried himself off before going back to bed, though he still had a job to finish.

He was too tired to bother, tired and frustrated.

Any chance of trying to save Hiccup – or rather, the dragon who might be Hiccup – was gone now. No one would stand for it, and after they found and killed the Night Fury they would kill Hiccup too by any one of a dozen equally cruel methods, if they didn't execute him on the spot.

And Gobber wouldn't survive five minutes if he was branded as a dragon sympathizer.

When he'd walked out on his apprentice in the arena he knew it'd looked, to Hiccup at least, like he'd abandoned him. He'd done it to save his own skin, and he knew the kid wouldn't forgive him for it until the day he died and maybe even afterwards.

And the fact was, Gobber would find it hard to forgive himself for a long time, maybe never, even if he'd had no other choice.

From now on, he'd just have to let things play out on their own, because it was only a matter of time before they hunted the Stalker down and put its head over the door of the Great Hall.

* * *

Time. If only I had more of it. I looked down at the sleeping Dark One, curled up inside the hollow, protected from the rain. He slept in peace, a gentle smile on his face as he doubtless thought of a pleasant memory.

Sleeping during the night. Didn't he know.. well, I couldn't judge him for it. How long had it been since I had been able to do that, able to set aside the harsh world for a while, even when it was in turmoil. Especially when it was in turmoil.

They haunted me in my dreams.

Whatever innocence I'd once had, I'd lost it long before he had been born through untold strife and worry. I didn't want to dwell on it.

It was time to do some reconnaissance. That would occupy my mind. I slipped off through the brush and climbed into a tree, hearing the patter of rain droplets splashing off my back as I went and the drip of water as it slipped from the leaves and soaked into the ground.

With any luck, I would be back before he awoke.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Made while listening to Jim Croce and the peculiar band that goes by the name 'Meatloaf'.**

 **See if you can detect the not-completely-obvious foreshadowing in this update. Anyway, I had a blast writing the last half of this chapter, for obvious reasons. Mostly because of Toothless. He's conflicted somewhat, but it's not the helpless whiny angsty sort of conflicted. Toothless does things. He has a plan and he's willing to get his paws dirty to make it work. He has action, and I like what I've made him become.**

 **Tell me what you think of his character. I know, I know, it only takes a small amount of time to leave a review yadda yadda yadda, but I'm serious and it really makes my day, as any writer will tell you.**

 **Constructive criticism is appreciated, and if you liked or disliked this chapter or the story in general, please tell me why.**

 **Next up – we get our first glimpse of a villain.**

 **Cheers!**

 **P.S If anyone noticed the reference to chapter 12, I'll give you a victory cookie.**

 **Written: March 31st – April 7th.**

 **Published - April 7th.**

 **Changelog:  
**

 **1:00 in the morning of April 8th: Changed the AN a smidgeon and removed the sarcastic remark in the changelog.**


	16. A Talk

**AN:**

 **Well! I was pleasantly surprised when I released the last chapter and got so many reviews, so here's another one for all of you who like this story and even those who haven't much interest.**

 **Also, I've done a little retconning when it comes to Chapter 7, so you might want to check that out before you read this chapter. Written while listening to Rocket Man by Elton John, Chicago, and the Beatles,** **as well as some new tracks that have been recommended to me by Silhouette amongst Stars, who is a fanfiction writer who does some great stuff over on the Wings of Fire archive.**

 **Kudos to him!**

 **But anyway, I hope you enjoy this** **update** **and the new information it brings! - Even though it's been a month and a half... _sorry._**

* * *

They called Her many things. Some called Her a ruler, dispensing justice and order to the people. Some called Her a tyrant, obsessed and addicted to power. Some called Her the greatest, most conniving mind that had ever lived, ever hungry, ever eager for beneficial knowledge.

They called Her a Queen.

Few had the insolence to call Her impatient to Her face. Few were brave enough to say that she was a despot, stifling the nest with overbearing terror. Fewer still were daring enough to call Her fat and lazy and a leech upon Her kingdom, slowly eating away at their lives and freedoms. Virtually none were disrespectful enough to attempt desertion from Her domain. Dragons who did _that_ rarely lived to tell the tale. Because she ate them. Let them yell and curse inside Her stomach for all the good it did their slowly dissolving bodies, that was Her motto.

But then, there was one dragon who had, one Dark One who'd done that and gotten away with it. But that was in the early days, before she'd tightened Her hold around him and reminded him who he was and who he owed his survival to; with whom his allegiance lay.

It worked. Had worked for a long time. He was Her most potent weapon, Her trump card during the raids; never seen and never hurt, even when dozens might die in a raid in their unthinking service to Her in a fortnight. Efficient, that was the word for it.

And now he was gone, his connection severed from Her consciousness, the last image she'd seen through him the vision of the rapidly approaching ground. But he was alive, alive but not well, that she knew from the mental cord between them, now reduced to only a small piece of twine.

If he had been able to fly he would've returned a week ago, and bad weather had prevented a rescue attempt for days.

Too much interference. Even when her dragons knew that island and how to get to it like they knew the back of their claws, there was a chance she might lose control. And that was unacceptable, for a number of reasons.

But tomorrow – tomorrow the weather would clear, she could feel it in her bones - and then, under guise of a raid, she would sneak in a rescuing force and bring him back for a good lesson in common sense.

The thought of him having been alone on that island with the dangerous two-legs without Her guidance – or rather… manipulation, was worrying, but just as soon as it popped into her head she squashed it. There was no need to be concerned. After all, he could handle himself.

* * *

A fleeting shadow, a puff of wind, a black dart in a wood full of darkness I was, my wings silent as I glided to the top of a brown, squat human barn, feeling the soggy thatch under my claws, then let myself down to the ground.

I was hungry. Giving the food to Hiccup had left me wanting, and I needed sustenance.

A hundred yards away sat a cluster of Viking houses, wooden slats pattering with the rain; a stream ran nearby, and the water coming off of the roofs emptied into it.

The heavy musk of wool and ewe sheep filled the air, along with the smell of their dung. I pulled at the brass knocker on the door and it swung open with a creak. Sometimes my human past could be useful. I could have blown it open anyway, since the owner would not have needed it after I was finished with his stock, but I wanted to be stealthy tonight.

A confused baa came from inside and a dirty white head was raised in sleepy confusion; it seemed one of the sheep was still awake. It would be the first to die. I sprang, talons kicking off from the dirt floor, spurts of dust forming little clouds where my paws had been before I was off the ground entirely.

The ewe saw me coming at the last second and rolled over in terror, trying to get away, but it was too late. I came down on it with all the lithe force of a panther, snapping the spine in on blow, feeling the soft wool for half a second before I jumped over the bleating animal. It was already dead, it just didn't know it yet.

But the sounds of distress woke the rest of the sheep, and soon the fold was filled with their cries as they scrambled to get away, tripping over themselves as they fled. One of the rams woke up almost beneath my feet and stared at me, petrified. I snorted and he scuttled off.

I picked up the dead ewe in my mouth and trotted away, careful not to leave a blood trail, kicking the door shut with a hind leg. I would be long gone before any of the dim-witted humans awoke from their beds, and the rain would erase all of the tracks I had left in the soft earth. Too bad I didn't care for the taste of mutton. The wool got stuck in my teeth.

I hefted my kill into an old oak and ate until I was satisfied, torching the remains with a thin jet of my purple fire until the carcass was nothing but soot; even the bones had been charred to ash, leaving no trace that I had ever been eating here. The rain would wash away the sour smell of the dead.

It was a waste of meat, but then, there was plenty to be had from the villagers. I gave it a couple of hours for the meal to digest.

Before dawn I would do some looking around, keep an eye out on the humans and be ready to move Hiccup if they showed any sign of drawing near his hiding place, then kill the discoverers anyway. What was it he had said – to not kill his old kin?

I'd been like that once, more naive than a young hatchling, but now I felt as much remorse when I killed a man as I did when I killed a sheep, sometimes even taking glee in it when I swooped down and they cowered, flinching like so many rats when I destroyed one of their catapults with a flash, and then I would be gone.

But that was in my old service to Her, the despoiler. Still, I convinced myself, most of those I had killed deserved their deaths. And what were prey animals if they were not meant to be eaten?

From my perch in the oak I watched as the tired humans searched the barn with their puny, sputtering lanterns; heard the yelling and what sounded like cursing when they discovered the mess inside, saw them kick the muddy ground with their boots in powerless frustration. Then they went back inside.

The night was growing old when I slipped out of the oak, heading on a course that would take me around the village and away from the coast line, towards a vantage point that overlooked all of the village and then some. From there I could observe everything that went on until early morning, and then I would head back to that Hiccup – such a silly name – and teach him what it really meant to be a Dark One. Probably sooner than that.

Already I could imagine all of the idiot things he could be doing while I was away, and I felt doubt at the soundness of my plan. Not for the first time, and not for the last time either.

Now I sensed the acrid, sooty scent of firewood wafting through the air like a thin, invisible pall. Equally as strong was the metallic tang of iron drifting up from their forge, masked by the earthiness of moss and dirt and wet forest litter. I wrinkled my snout at that smell.

The pitter-patter of the rain was dying down now, though the droplets still splattered off of my back and dripped from the leaves of the trees. The sky above me glowed slightly, the thinning cloud cover throwing a misty halo around the disc of the moon.

I stayed there, watched, and waited, seeing the sentry posted at the outskirts of the village from force of habit, his torch flickering from the damp and wind as he sheltered under a wooden lean-to. Boring, but I bided my time, patient as I laid up in a young elm tree.

Far off in the east the sky brightened, deep purple in a sea of black, then indigo, then the ground was illuminated with blue light. Dawn had scarcely come than the inhabitants of the village woke and began to go about their business. The ringing chops of an axe came from far off, echoing from the mountains. Someone was splitting firewood.

Soon the sun broached the horizon, pouring orange light into the island, the long shadows providing contrast to the glowing sunbeams filtering through the forest. Had I been bothered with such minor things I would've called the scene beautiful, but to me it was only monotonous.

When an hour had passed and nothing interesting had happened, I gave up on observing the village and faded back into the forest, leaving as quietly as I had come. I would not have to worry about hunters discovering my charge, given that the mere fear of me would keep the men out of the woods, if their panicked screaming when they heard the sound of my dive was any indication. Sometimes it was good to be me.

On my way back I saw a group of villagers milling about the barn, grunting and spitting out what must've been curses at their own impotence. Well, if they wanted to wallow in their own stupidity I wasn't going to stop them from it, and it had been fun to steal that sheep, even if I didn't like the taste.

I did see one other thing – that golden-haired girl was at it again, practicing with her axe against the unfortunate trees, their trunks scarred and split by the hits. In some places the bark had been stripped away completely, showing the dun, wet wood underneath marred with long, splintered pocks. This human was more dangerous than most her age if she had the dedication to be out training this early, and my opinion of her went up a notch.

I could have killed her right then and there if I'd wanted to; she was alone and unaware of me. One firebolt would turn her into nothing more than soot in a blackened crater. And yet I hesitated. I didn't need to kill her. There was no point to it. I didn't eat humans.

Here I was, contemplating whether or not I should murder someone in cold blood – as much as humans were underneath me, they were still sentient. I had been like that once, far in the past. No more than two weeks ago Hiccup had been like that.

I didn't have the venom to change her into a Dark One, and besides, that wouldn't have fit into my plan, so I left her alone for the moment and went back to the plateau.

Hiccup was dozing fitfully in the hollow when I got there, black scales blending in with the rocky dirt and making him look almost like an old log covered in clay. It must've been a long night for him, I thought, and my body thought so too, because I had to stifle a yawn. It'd been more than a week since I'd had any substantial sleep, and at some point quick naps didn't quite cut it any more.

But I had things to do at the moment, and perhaps rest could wait until the evening or even tomorrow morning. The temptation was there, but…

I snorted at my own weakness, reached down and shook Hiccup's shoulder, gently. He rolled in his sleep, mumbled something I couldn't understand, but I could hear the thought loud and clear.

" _Just another minute Dad."_

I paused, puzzled by it, then decided it probably wasn't important and nudged him, harder this time. He woke up slowly, then with a start when he saw me standing over him, scrambling in the mud, limbs windmilling but going nowhere. A bit of mud splashed into his nose and he sneezed.

" _Good morning,"_ I said.

He stretched, lost his balance and stepped awkwardly. _"_ _I don't feel like it's a very good morning..._ _o_ _w. Did I sleep with a splinter in me?"_

" _Let me see_ _."_

He was very quiet when I looked him over, and fluttered his wings when I pulled a shard out from where it was wedged between his dirty scales, about a foot up from where his tail met his back. Red blood leaked up from the scratch, but I licked it off with a few laps of my tongue.

" _Hey! That tickles!"_ He batted at my head with his paw but missed.

" _It will help you heal."_

" _If you hadn't somehow changed me into a Night_ _Fury with your spit I wouldn't believe you."_ There was an undercurrent in that sentence.

" _Dark One,"_ I reminded him.

" _Ahuh._ _Feels_ _kinda_ _numb where_ _you're getting your slobber all over me."_

" _It'_ _s_ _so you can't feel the pain_ _."_

" _I wouldn't call_ _having a splinter pulled out of me pain,"_ he said, looking over his shoulder at me. _"_ _I can't feel much of anything back there at the moment_ _except caked dirt."_

" _You'll need_ _a_ _wash soon, to_ _cleanse you of that human filth."_

" _It was dragon manure."_

" _They_ _are_ _the ones_ _who locked_ _you in there."_

" _And you're the one who got me out, I know._ _Stop rubbing your superiority in my face."_

" _There's no point in being_ _a_ _Dark One if you do_ _not_ _know how to_ _do it right_ _._ _I'm teachin_ _g you to act the part._ _"_

" _And now you're acting like my_ _father_ _,"_ said Hiccup, and he huffed.

" _You have_ _a problem with your_ _father?"_ I asked, setting the trap.

"… _H_ _e's_ _stubborn sometimes._ _Overbearing."_ I got the feeling that he wasn't telling me the whole truth there.

" _And the rest of the villagers are like this?"_

" _Y_ _es."_

" _Then_ _why did you want to stay?"_ The trap was sprung.

" _Well…_ _"_ he said, searching for words. " _it'_ _s all I know,_ _really,_ _and now_ _you've taken me away from it._ _"_ Again, there was the undercurrent.

" _So you were scared of change."_

" _No…_ _._ _Maybe._ _I wanted to make my own_ _change, forge my own life,_ _if that makes sense."_

" _I_ _n that sense we are alike._ _But you will still need my help."_

" _I wouldn't if you hadn't done this to me."_

" _And then what?_ _What would you have done?"_

"… _I would have to think about it."_

" _Then you didn't know._ _You_ _contented yourself with your lot_ _."_

" _Did_ _not!_ _I made inventions."_

" _Probably ones of no consequence."_

He glanced at my tail again, as if there was something he knew about it that I didn't.

" _I_ _a_ _m not going to argue about this,"_ I said. _"_ _What I did_ _to you I did for a good reason, and I don't want any trouble from you about it._ _Understand?_ _"_

Hiccup clenched his jaw, once, twice. _"_ _Fine."_

" _Good._ _When I tell you to do something, do it at once and without asking questions._ _Yo_ _u will if you value your life._ _There is much that I need to teach you."_

I decided to make my explanation short and simple, weighing my words carefully. _"_ _There is_ _a tyrant_ _who controls the drago_ _ns_ _with the Auror._ _I have escaped from her,_ _but she w_ _ill try_ _to regain me_ _for her own purposes_ _._ _And now, you as well."_

Hiccup mulled it over. _"_ _This 'she'_ _used you in the raids?"_

" _Yes."_

" _And it was against your will?_ _"_

" _It was._ _"_

" _How did you escape?"_

" _I was shot down_ _and pretended to die upon impact._ _She believed it then, but she will n_ _ot be fooled for long._ _The only thing that_ _could have prevented her from coming_ _here was_ _bad weather and luck_ _,_ _and both of those will not hold forever. Today will be clear."_

" _This 'she' might come_ _back here today._ _In person?"_

" _No. '_ _She' is far too big for that._ _I expect_ _that she will_ _have sent_ _another wave of her peons_ _here by_ _tomorrow morning, perhaps even_ _tonight."_

" _Dragons. As her peons."_ It took a moment for him to contemplate that. _"_ _Will you fight them off? -_ _no, too many. Hide?"_

" _I would fly away_ _and take you with me_ _,_ _but_ _my tail will not heal for another week and half,"_ I said, holding it up to the light so Hiccup could see it. _"_ _If I ever find the man who shot me down I will kill him for this,_ _painfully_ _. If not for my_ _wound_ _I w_ _ould have left a long time ago_ _."_

Hiccup stood stock still after hearing this, not twitching so much as an ear. I smelled the fear scent emanating from him. Did he know who had done it, and feared for that human's life?

" _Was it your father?"_ I asked, knowing that I would be able to see through any clumsy attempt at deceit he could try on me.

" _No."_ That was truth.

" _Anyone else you knew?"_

" _No."_ That also was truth, and I leaned back. Perhaps he just didn't know. Still, the fear scent remained. Maybe my mention of killing a man had frightened him. He would have to get over it.

" _How'_ _d_ _you plan to escape the tyrant_ _if_ _you weren't shot down?"_ That was a good question, and I had thought of it many times.

" _By pretending to be shot down. It was an opportunity to make Her think I was dead."_

The link between myself and her had strengthened; she knew I was alive, but I had walled myself off and her control would not be overpowering… yet.

The image of a Gronckle being snapped up like a mere herring flashed before me; the cracking sound of bone being warped and twisted echoing through my mind. No, I would not succumb.

And I had to make sure that Hiccup would not be another of her victims.

A voice from outside my consciousness. I had closed my eyes in thought; now I opened them. _"_ _You're_ _quiet_ _. Thinking?"_ It was Hiccup.

" _Yes."  
_

I did not have much time. The training would have to start now.

The Auror was… hard to describe, but I liked to think of it as a clear, level ocean, empty except for myself and Hiccup, the sun and the stars, and further away – much further - the Tyrant's foul presence, a swirling, scarlet cloud.

'Seeing' into it was difficult because I could not physically see it, could only visualize it when I blocked out the outside world. Hiccup was a beacon, a tiny light in an endless grey sea, only the mental equivalent of a few sandbags lying around his mind to protect him from the waves.

I _pushed,_ splashing him with metaphorical water, heard a gasp from Hiccup as he felt the pressure in his brain; his beacon momentarily dimmed. A little came back to me and I absorbed the energy.

" _What was_ that _!?"_ he yelled, clutching at his head suddenly. I knew the feeling, that sense of swelling inside my skull, almost as if it would burst from the force of a mental shove or insidious probe. What I had just done to him had been nothing like that, more like a mere brush, a wetting with spray.

His defenses were pitiful at the moment. That would have to change.

" _I_ _touched your mind with the Auror."_

" _That…_ _felt.. like… like… how do I_ _explain it_ _? -_ _l_ _ike I was_ _in_ _a bubble and_ _you po_ _pped it_ _._ _Like_ _a storm wind_ _blowing me over._ _"_

" _If the Auror is an ocean, that was a ripple."_

"…" _  
_

 _"_ _Don't be caught by surprise this time_ _,"_ I said. _"_ _Focus on something._ _An object. An emotion._ _Hold on to it._ _"_

" _Like what?"_

" _Anything in the real world,_ _or a strong feeling_ _. Remember that the pressure you feel is purely mental,"_ I said, conveniently leaving out that overexertion might give him more than just a bloody nose.

Hiccup's eyes roved, settled on a rock. He looked curious. _"_ _Like this?"_

 _"Yes. W_ _e will_ _start with objects, then move to emotions later."  
_

 _"_ _W_ _hat are you doing? What's the point of this?"  
_

 _"I am_ _teaching you how to defend yourself, mentally."  
_

A pause.

" _Who would I be defending myself against? Other dragons?_ _Nadders? Nightmares?_ _"_

" _No. They can't use the Auror like this,"_ I said. _  
_

 _"Than who,_ _if not them_ _?"_

At least he was intelligent. This was a hard question to answer. I didn't want to spook him too much; but on the other claw, he had to know the truth sooner rather than later. Now was not the time to tell lies.

" _The Tyrant."  
_

Another pause.

" _If you had to fake your own_ death _to escape from her control, and that only for a short time… what chance do I have?"_

" _A good one._ _With you here… I can use resonance."  
_

 _"Resonance?"  
_

 _"It's complicated."  
_

 _"_ _How's it work?"_

I visualized the Auror again, saw Hiccup's mind next to me, the sands replaced with a short dike of earth. He'd improved, if only a little.

 _"_ _Focus on something,_ _quickly_ _,"_ I said, waited, and _pushed._

Hiccup knew it was coming this time, put a paw on his head to protect against the pressure.

Another ripple in the seascape that reached the ramparts of his mind, swirled up, lapped at their tops, and swirled back down again, sloshed against the walls of my mind, then bounced back to him, sapping away energy until it swelled into a wave that overcame Hiccup's rampart and he cried out in the real world.

" _Ow!"_

" _How did it feel?"_ I asked him, after he had settled.

" _Like_ _there were two pulses._ _The first one_ _was easier to handle, I just had to keep focus and it didn't hurt at all, but the second one… hurt."  
_

 _"_ _That was a form of resonance. Imagine the Auror as an ocean,_ _the force you felt as a_ _ripple_ _, and your mind as a_ _n island, upon which stands a beacon_ _. The first time I did that to you I absorbed the backsplash. This time I reflected it."  
_

 _"How does that make it stronger?"  
_

 _"The Auror draws strength from us. In order to be used, called into existence, it requires_ _energy. When you blocked_ _the ripple, you kept it from_ _washing over your beacon_ _, but that took energy, which was fed to the Auror. Then it bounced back to me, and I did the same thing, and when the return hit your mental defenses it was stronger than it had been at first."  
_

 _"That confused me. Could you say it again in plain Norse this time?"_

" _I'_ _m not talking to you in Norse."_ _  
_

 _"_ _I hear it as Norse."  
_

 _"_ _Fine._ _Keeping the ripple from dimming your beacon took energy. The ripple took that energy and bounced back to me. I did not absorb the ripple, but reflected it back to you, and that took energy from me, making the ripple stronger. Call it a wave now. And when the wave hit your walls it overpowered them and splashed on your beacon._ _That is what caused the pain."_

" _So as long as I'm around it'll keep getting stronger until it overwhelms one of our defenses?"  
_

 _"If we're close enough. Within a few paces."  
_

 _"Then why didn't that happen when I talked to you last night? Or this morning? Or when you busted me out of the arena and I rode on your back?_ _That was in the Auror."_

" _That was speech. Your mind t_ _ook_ _in the_ _energy instead of_ _bouncing it back to me_ _because you allowed_ _yourself to hear_ _._ _And speech in the Auror takes very little energy_ _even if it was affected by resonance."_

A moment's pause. Hiccup mulled it over.

" _Why is this useful?"_

" _Some of the energy in the Auror dissipates as waves which do not hit our mental walls, and they are stronger than regular Auror waves if they are produced with resonance."  
"_ _And this is somehow important."_ _  
_

 _"This information could save your life. I want you to know it._ _Imagine the Tyrant's waves, the waves which she uses to batter down dragon's defenses before she takes_ _control of their minds with honeyed words and terrible pain._ _Imagine them not as ripples, not as regular waves, but as storm surges in the worst storm you've ever seen."  
_

 _"Not helping my anxiety here,"_ said Hiccup, trying to make light of the situation, though he could not keep a surge of fear from overtaking him when he envisioned the scene in his mind's eye.

" _It's not supposed to._ _I am making you aware of the threat so that you are not caught off guard. Alone, even I would succumb to that kind of_ _raw power, but only just, for the mind of a Dark One is powerfu_ _l. But if you were steadfast enough in your defenses, we could produce waves enough with resonance to weather_ _her_ _hurricane_ _."_

Hiccup dropped his gaze from mine. He sat on his haunches and looked at the ground, playing with a stone on the ground absentmindedly while he thought, staring into the forest with slightly vacant eyes. It skittered against the pebbles in the dry dirt like a marble.

He sighed.

" _Look…_ _I feel like I've been thrown into something I feel I didn't understand, is hard to understand. And now that I understand exactly what_ _is happening, exactly what is at stake.. I don't want to._ _In the space of a few hours you've dropped on me the k_ _nowledge that there is some, some Tyrant out there controlling all the dragons and the dragon raids which were attacking our village, controlling them utterly,_ _that it or she has done terrible things._

 _And I didn't know that before._ _Maybe it was better that I didn't. What's done is done. I'm a Night Fury now – Dark One,_ _and suddenly I learn that there's a whole new world or place called this Auror which you can use for all sorts of evil things. I'm out of my depth. I really am. Was it triggered by me talking to Stormfly?_ _I don't know how to use_ _it, don't know if I can use it outside of this mind-talk thing."_

He was ranting now, had gotten up and was pacing back and forth on the dusty soil. _  
_

 _"Everything is so complicated and you're giving me all of this responsibility_ _too.._ _suddenly I learn all about this resonance stuff and just how frightening the Tyrant is_ _and what she can do and then, basically, you tell me that I'm the key to it all, that you need my help to resist her power. I'm not ready for that. I don't think anyone would be ready for that._ _I'm frightened_ _of it, frightened and angry at you too for dumping me into this… this_ mess. _This_ debacle _._ _Because if you hadn't done this to me I never would have had to worry about this stuff.  
_

 _I'm afraid,_ _afraid that_ _your dream.. your path to freedom will end up killing us bot_ _h and there's a very real chance that it might happen. What did you say earlier?_ _That She… that the Tyrant might be sending dragons over to this island this very day to look for you?_ _Yeah?_ _That She knows you're alive?_ _You are her most destructive dragon._ _Every morning after every raid, more buildings are destroyed by_ you _than any other. You are her most valuable asset, and She will not stop combing this island until She finds you, and now, myself as well.  
_

 _What do you think she could do with TWO Night Furies? It would be a disaster. An absolute disaster. Even if we could defend ourselves mentally, even you couldn't fight off a hundred dragons. We'd be dragged right off to her nest before you_ _could_ _even_ utter _a_ _single one of your… of your ridiculous_ _sentence_ _s_ _about Dark One superiority and then what?_

 _What will happen to my village, huh? I still care about them. Nothing you do can stop that. What's going to happen to Berk_ _when there are two mind-controlled Night Furies blasting them_ _from dusk until dawn?_

 _Why me? Why me instead of someone else, instead of Ruffnut or Tuffnut or… or Astrid or Torenn._ _Heck, even Snotlout could handle this better than me!_

 _We can't hide! We can't run!_ _We can't fight!_ _We'_ _ve got no one but ourselves!_ _And even that might not work!_

 _We're doomed. We're doomed and it's all_ _YOUR FAULT!"_

" _Calm down._ _Don't go into hysterics,"_ I said. _"_ _We are not_ _doomed._ _Only a little more than a week_ _and my tail will heal_ _enough so that we can get out of here."  
_

 _"If_ _I_ _even survive that long!"_

" _You_ _will,"_ I said.

I wasn't sure that I would survive this, but if I would die I would die fighting for my freedom, not as a peon of the Tyrant.

Hiccup curled up in the hollow and began to sob.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **I had such a blast writing this chapter it wasn't even funny – after I got around to writing it. It's been busy for me these past few** **week** **s – I've** **been talking a lot with friends and writing for other stories both outside of the fandom and within.**

 **But I really hope you enjoyed it.**

 **It only takes a moment to write down your thoughts, what you liked about this story or this chapter or maybe even what you didn't like – your criticism impacts the story in a meaningful way and it really helps me improve.** **The review box is right down below** **and I do read and reply to** **all of your reviews in some way or another.**

 **What did you think of Hiccup's rant? How would you have changed it for the better? What do you think of Toothless's mindset? - now Dorn. There are a lot of questions I have and I am extremely grateful when you guys answer them in your reviews.**

 **Written: April 9** **th** **–** **12** **th** **, April 30** **th** **–** **May 18** **th** **.**

 **Published:** **May 19** **th** **.**

 **Next up - - Well, that would be spoilers.**


	17. Pieces Speak

**Chapter 17: Pieces Speak**

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Many thanks to Vojkt, Eeviolite, shirzadym and Deadly-Bagel for reviewing the last chapter and telling me what you thought. I am very, very happy to see that there are a lot of people who read my stories and like them and are engaged with them. I have responded to all of you.**

 **And now to the other part of my promise – that your reviews do help me with the story. They do. You mentioned that the bit about the Auror was slightly confusing, shirzadym, and that Hiccup was parroting, and that Toothless (Dorn) seemed cold – these seemed to be common elements.**

 **That switching between first-person and third-person as well as first-person between different characters weakens the story – that the point of first-person is to get into the head of a character and that I've forgone that advantage – special kudos to Deadly-Bagel for telling me that.**

 **Thank you for letting me know. I aim to fix some of these problems, although others were by design.**

 **Written while listening to Linkin Park – _Lost in the Echo_ mostly, as it's my favorite song out of their stuff, Jim Croce and Don McLean.**

 **Last but not least, a big, BIG shoutout to my friend LiterallyHasNoIdeasForAnOKName, who helped with this chapter more than I can say. He is (Literally) the reason why the chapter isn't a myriad of typos, mismatched tenses, abrupt mood changes, confused plot (more confused than it already is) and otherwise storytelling that isn't up to par.**

* * *

 _Don't cry,_ I thought to myself. _Don't cry,_ even as my body shook from the sobs and a lump caught in my throat. I buried my face in my claws – claws; they were muddy but I didn't care.

A part of me wanted Dorn to notice, to help me, but there was no reassuring touch on my shoulder, no kind words, only silence.

Just like Stoick.

Crying wouldn't make anything better. Crying made me remember. _Don't cry._ It was what Gobber always said.

Gobber wasn't here now.

 _That's right_ _,_ said the voice, sneering in tone. _Useless._ _He left you because you were weak._

No, not the voice of my sarcastic side, a new voice.

 _Go away!_ That was my own, mangled by anguish. _You're wrong! It's not true!_

 _He discarded you as_ _casually_ _as_ _he would throw away an old bowl of_ _soup._ _He doesn't care about you. No one does._

 _None of this is real. It's not real. Please don't let it be real!_ _This is all a dream! This is all a dream and I'm going to wake soon and it's all going to be over._

 _As if._

Madness.

 _Fracture._

" _Hiccup."_ Another voice. Not real.

" _Hiccup."_ Not real.

" _Hiccup!"_ A claw lay on my back, was there when before it had not, and pushed, rolled me over until my face was exposed to the light.

" _Don't wallow in the pain._ _"_ For a brief moment a hint of emotion.

 _He knows. You're_ _broken, like a broken toy to be thrown away._

But not forgotten.

I blinked, bleary eyes opening to a world of dull brown and Night Fury black as the centerpiece. He was standing right next to me and all I could muster was a mere growl against him. It sounded more like a whimper.

 _Pathetic._

Before my anger had dulled; I was too afraid, too curious. Now my chest tightened at the mere sight of him.

Why was I like this? Why were my emotions jumping all over the place?

 _Insanity._

" _You need to move_ _on from this_ _irrational fear."_ A pause, as if he'd never offered encouragement before. _"_ _I will_ _take care of you, protect you from the Tyrant._ _But you need to trust me."_

 _See, he does care._

 _He's setting you up for a betrayal._ _He's using you._ _Don't trust him._

I needed them to be quiet. I needed to _think_. He was responsible for all this, I couldn't say yes. But I couldn't say no.

Then came a whisper in my mind. I batted it away, but it was persistent, unyielding. _You have a way to hurt him._

And another.

 _You already have._

 _What are you talking about?_ Myself.

I was going crazy.

 _His tailfin._ _You're the one who destroyed his tailfin._ _Tell him._

 _I can't!_

 _Why not?_ _Surely you concede he deserves it._

 _He'd kill me!_ _He already said he would kill the man who did it._ But I was grasping at straws.

 _You're not a man._ _He needs you. He said so himself. He can't kill you, not now,_ _not while you're still of use to him._

Then – _He is weak_ _because he allowed you that knowledge_ _._ _Now you are in a position of strength._

Dorn nudged me. A reminder.

" _I'm thinking about it,_ _alright!"_

If I was going to do it, should I tell him now?

 _Go ahead._ _If you accept his offer you might as well._

A cautionary voice. _T_ _hat would destroy all of the goodwill from going along with him!_

The other voice, the first, the malicious one. _Exactly._

" _I'_ _ll do it."_

" _I thought you'd come around."_ Not even so much as a thank-you.

Dorn looked like he was about to say something else, but then he frowned and thought better of it.

 _Tell him. Tell him!_

But I didn't know if it would do anything. Maybe he would take it in stride. Maybe he would find another way, a way to get around me and leave me to die.

Maybe he would pin me to the wall, maul me until I was barely alive.. maybe…

 _You're already beneath him._ _You can't lose anything by_ _telling him._

Thought and counter-thought, and all the while Dorn was watching me intently, as if he knew that I was struggling with something inside, deciding whether to speak.

 _I can't._

 _You fool!_

 _I can't risk it._

My breath caught in my throat and I looked down, could not bear to meet his gaze.

 _I knew you didn't have it in you._

 _No!_

My mind was coming apart at the seams. It was so much more than a mere sarcastic side. Not a game anymore; the voices hated me. My own brain was betraying me so much like my body had.

I rolled my over and faced the ground again, shut my eyes. The growing mid-morning light was giving me a headache.

No tears came, and knowing even that made it hurt even more inside.

Reptiles didn't have tear ducts.

All I wanted was peace, was quiet, was to not have to worry about the things that went bump in the night, to work at the forge even. To be able to sleep in back at Stoick's big house in a real bed, not the cold, hard ground.

 _You know things are bad when you start remembering_ _that place with nostalgia._

I snorted at the thought. It was my sarcastic side. _You're back,_ I thought.

 _Making terrible jokes since all of a week ago… I don't like to see you like this._

 _My sarcastic side is trying to_ _cheer me up._ _I don't even know anymore._

 _Yay..._

 _Looks like you've stolen all of my sarcasm,_ I thought, and snorted again, sending ripples along a tiny pool on a leaf which had formed in last night's rain, the reflection of the trees swaying with the waves.

Talking with my sarcastic side felt natural. Even if he was only a figment of my imagination.  
 _Hey now._ _I'm more than just a way_ _for you_ _to cope. Hopefully._

 _Maybe. I feel exhausted. It's not just my body that's tired – emotionally_ _I feel like a shipwreck._ _I get_ _angry_ _at something_ _or I feel_ _all cold inside_ – _but it never lasts long. Then I go back to feeling sorry for myself_ _and_ _fear_ _…_ _fear_ _._

A quiet silence from him, so much that I feared that he had gone away and been replaced by one of the other voices.

 _No such luck._ _I'm still_ _kickin'_ _._ _A_ _t least I'm always going to be around '_ _cause you can never get away from me._

 _That's not the encouragement I was looking for._

The equivalent of a mental sigh.

 _I'm really bad at giving advi_ _ce_ _aren't I?_

 _Yes._

 _Dorn's_ _wearing one of his frowns._ _I wonder if I could cheer_ him _up._

 _I wish,_ I thought.

 _He doesn't strike me as the cheerful type._

Dorn was striding over, having taken a leave when I had been thinking with myself, black paws making muddy imprints in the soft earth.

 _You wonder what would be the easiest way to kill him,_ came a thought. _By the head or by the throat._

 _Whoa. That wasn't you._

 _You could push him off a cliff,_ said the voice. _Blind him in his sleep._

" _Time to get up."_

 _You wish you could kill him for his arrogance._

 _Shut it!_

 _I'll always be here._

" _You're fast,"_ I thought to Dorn.

" _We need a better place to hole up,"_ he said.

 _Funny how his mouth doesn't move when he talks._

" _You found one?"_

" _This place is too open and the ground is too soft. We're leaving tracks. It is temporary."_

 _So he doesn't have a good place yet._

" _There's tree cover."_

" _Not good enough. Any real search of the woods would find this place."_

"Including the Tyrant's," went left unsaid.

" _Where are we going?"_

" _Hunting, hunting and learning. You need to know more. There are questions you still need to ask your_ self. _Your real self, not the self that you think is you. Know yourself, and know your body, inside and out. You're confused."_

" _I'm not,"_ I said. What did he mean by confused?

Dorn looked close to giving a sigh. Maybe he was trying to teach me through a new way.

 _Because the old way worked amazingly._

 _Shh._

" _Basics. Who are you?"_

" _Hiccup,"_ I 'said'.

" _No. That is your name, not you. Who are you?"_

" _Me?"_

" _Wrong. Only you can know you. You have to know everything that makes you you. Every thought. Every part of your being."_

How could I know myself when my self was being split apart?

" _To me, you're a scared kid, a false one. The boy they sent when the man who shot me down failed to claim me. No drive, no ideas, little logic, little life. You just live to keep living. Like most of the people on this earth and in this sky. You know I'm right."_

He wasn't. He couldn't be. I had dreams.. I knew what I wanted? Right?

Dorn went on even while I was thinking. _"You're pathetic. And I'm stuck with you. So I have to make the best of it."_

" _You're tearing me down. Why?"_

" _Sometimes things have to be destroyed to make way for new things to be built."_

" _Those are the words of a tyrant!"_ I blurted.

There was silence. A pause. The words almost echoed in my mind even though they were not physical, were only a thought of my mind given to Dorn's mind and his thoughts. _Tyrant! Tyrant. Tyrant…_

Maybe it was resonance.

" _I am no tyrant. I have not done the things that.. that monster has done."_

" _But in seeking to escape it.."_ I thought to him, stumbling over the words, _"You've imitated what makes the Tyrant a tyrant. You are becoming it."_

" _I would never."_

 _Ha. He needs to know himself more,_ said my sarcastic side, and the phrase hung on the imaginary tip of my tongue. I could say it.. it would hurt him..

 _do it do it do it_

But it would only make him more defensive.

 _Do it!_

" _Maybe you would. Maybe you've become a tyrant, become one of_ them." I was on a roll now, words flowing from my mind in a river. _"You fought in the raids. Why should I believe you? Good men died when you blew those towers. You're as responsible for those deaths as the Tyrant is for the death of every Viking that she's ever had killed."_

And, of course, I needed to not say anything that would make Dorn mad.

 _Nice going._

" _Don't test me,"_ said Dorn, spreading his wings to make him look bigger than he really was, black membranes blocking out the light of the morning sun, darkening the ground beneath his paws.

And suddenly the small hollow where I had been standing felt a lot smaller, the air more oppressive. I took a step back.

" _I have not been corrupted. You were trying to play on what you thought were my fears. You came close."_

Close. That was all he had said. Close, as if I would never improve.

His point made, he lowered his wings and turned away.

One last thing.

" _You know what 'inferior humans' call an 'outhouse'?"_

Dorn growled, not with his mind but with his body, a low rumble that I could feel through the ground, trembling my paws.

" _You know what the woods are for."_

* * *

Stoick frowned as he looked at the battered chart, parchment stiff from long years of exposure to sea spray on the open-topped longboat; he would have had it rolled up when it wasn't needed, but most days it would've broken from the strain, and maps were too valuable to waste.

Still, he thought, as he shaded in a section with a charcoal pencil to mark it as fruitless, they were narrowing it down. Gobber might've said that while they still didn't know just where to search, they knew just where not to search, and with every expedition they learned more about the terrain.

Would that he could have persuaded his father's navigator to keep better records. It was part of the reason he had learned to navigate himself, by dead reckoning and being good with a map.

A part of his mind noted that Hiccup was interested in maps.

One of the few things they had in common.

"Chief!" came the address, and Stoick looked up. Spitelout. "We've finished hoisting the replacement sails on the Ice Proud _;_ the Ingermans say she can make fifteen knots with a good breeze, stripped down as she is. Some of the oar seats on the port side were smashed, but there's no other damage to report with her."

"And the other ships?"

"Dragon's Bane has been dismasted, though she cost the devils dearly for it; they say it took three Nightmares and a horde of lesser dragons to bring it down, but that is only a rumor. We'll have to keep her under tow."

"Good idea. We can't spare the men at the oars when the dragons might spring a counterattack, with us only a few miles out of the mist."

Over his shoulder loomed the huge bank of fog, known to him only as Helheim's Gate, reaching up nearly to the bounds of the sky, sharp in contrast with the glittering, green, sunlit sea.

It was majestic, but he was in no mood to enjoy its majesty.

"Two other ships have had their masts knocked nearly overboard; the crews think they can get them back up in a few hours. Yours is already done. With your help, I assume?" said Spitelout, eyeing the trunk of the mast, about which men were rigging the sail with practiced hurry.

Stoick needed only to nod.

"We've only had three ships burnt to the waterline," continued Spitelout, "and those were some of the smaller ones; only one thirty-bench like the Ice Proud. We've had worse losses."

"Viking Seas. That was a good ship."

"Aye."

"Casualties?" asked Stoick.

That was always the worst part of the fight, the aftermath, knowing that there would always be dead, wounded and dying; only he saw it after every dragon raid, every hunt for the nest.

"Relatively light, even for the damage we've taken. Fifteen wounded, five of them grievously, one close to death, two dead, one missing."

Spitelout too did not like to linger on casualties.

"Preserve the dead as best you can; the coolness of autumn will keep them from rot. We'll give them a proper funeral once we get back home. Their relatives here already know."

All that talk, and still Stoick struggled to find meaning in death beyond his need to avenge, both for men of old and the men who had died today.

Avenging them could only get him so far.

An old pang ached in his chest, reminding him of his wife.

"How long until we arrive at Berk?" he heard himself ask.

"At this speed?" said Spitelout. "A week, but with repairs and a good wind we could make it in three days and a night, weather permitting."

"Good enough. We work until nightfall; I'll take first watch."

"Take care of yourself.. brother."

"I will."

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Did anyone catch the Calvin and Hobbes reference? Anyone? Just me? Alright.**

 **Well, it's official.**

 **Yell at me, scream, deliver despondent reviews at me for not giving you an update in – what? Two months?**

 **You probably expected this to be something awesome, great, huge.**

 **I've had a massive case of writer's block since May 21** **st** **, apparently.** **This chapter is me attempting to get back into the flow of things.**

 **I do not blame Deadly-Bagel for this – he made me really think about the story and what I had going for it at the moment and by that, helped me procrastinate.** **In the end, he offered constructive criticism (which I asked for, so who am I to complain) and that does help the story.**

 **Expect to see me trying to work** **in more Hiccup into this** **fic.**

 **As always, leave a review with your thoughts in the little box below; it only takes a few moments for the small ones and if you care to deliver a critique like some Bagels I know, that won't take too much of your time either.**

 **I really do appreciate it, even when said reviews deliver inconvenient truths.**

 **:D**

 **Written: May 21st – July 2nd.**

 **Published: July 2nd.**

 **Changelog: Nothing yet.**


	18. Moving Forward

**Moving Forward**

 **Divider.**

 **AN:**

 **This is my first chapter using Grammarly, so if you notice an upgrade in quality, that's why.**

 **For those of you who aren't a fan of first-person, or think that I am underusing its potential, I'm trying a new writing style for this chapter – the difference is subtle, but an improvement, in my opinion, and hopefully in yours as well.**

 **Delayed because I had to go out of state. Delayed A LOT. This was supposed to come out a week ago, but a trip to Missouri and FFN UI problems with this chapter kept me from putting it out.**

Divider.

It was a beautiful day in the woods – not – I was trying not to think too hard about what being a dragon meant, and Dorn was teaching me how to be a dragon.

 _Good times._

Still my heart twisted from the raw emotion that had been pouring into me, flooding me not more than an hour ago with the pain inside.

And yet 'I' - I, how precious that word had become now that I knew the true value of it – was trying to get over it and put that experience behind me.

 _It wasn't the first time that happened to you, and it won't be the last._

" _Where are we going?"_ I'd asked, when he had beckoned for me to leave the clearing. His snout wrinkled, as if to say _'_ _where do you think?'._

" _To find a new place to stay."_

Ah.

He'd told me before, he shouldn't have to tell me again.

Fleeing from a tyrant on our own four feet.

Still, there was the burning question of _why_.

Dorn.. Dorn seemed to be governed by ideals, and yet he also seemed to have no scruples, nothing to stop him from becoming a tyrant.

 _He has his own ideal,_ remarked my sarcastic side. _It's called blatant self-interest._

He had plans for me, that much was clear. But the what and the where and the when and the why of it, those things he always kept to himself.

What made him tick? What kept him up at night – no, that was a bad thought, a thought from the other me. What he thought about, what made him do what he did. How he kept asking those questions, the questions that cut at me to the core and made me think about who I was.

Did I even know?

I tried again.

" _What kind of place are we going?"_

Dorn trotted on, took only a moment to think. _"_ _A cave would be best,"_ he said. _"_ _Anywhere with rock."_

 _I think he_ _'_ _d die before he ever gave a straight answer._

" _Rock?"_

" _It muffles the Auror,"_ Dorn said, without missing a step. He walked low enough to the earth that his belly almost scraped the moss, his paws not rustling so much as a leaf or snapping a twig, head on a swivel. _"_ _You broadcast louder than a spin- Nadder_ _in a mud-puddle."_

 _Go ahead. You know you want to pound him for that,_ came a voice, and I almost listened.

 _It's Dorn being Dorn. Snap out of it._

Tempting, but I knew what was good for me. I pushed it out of my mind and tried to focus on something else.

If the Auror was muffled by rock, did that mean that it was something physical? My thoughts had always been that it was some kind of magic, like whatever Dorn had done to me to make me a Night Fury – my eyes glanced at him at that thought, because he might be a sorcerer and never show it.

Then, magic didn't abide by the normal rules of the world, so why would the Auror?

Something to think about.

My mind was quiet; I felt like I was mostly in control of it, whoever I was. There I went, second-guessing myself again.

The other voice had come out when I was agitated, angry, not in full control of my emotions, like it had taken on a single, ugly trait of mine and made it larger somehow, into a concrete set of thoughts, a system that might think for itself, might say 'I'.

That scared me.

That I might not be the only person in my own body.

 _Depends on your definition of person._

I refused to accept that I was not the only one. The other voices were only figments of imagination. Had to be.

Even a piece of imagination could become something more.

My mind was an in-between, a place between the world and my body, my own place.

Was.

We trotted on like that for a while, my self almost lost in its thoughts, following Dorn's steps by reflex. He was standing next to me, he was my guide while I puzzled out the tangle that was my brain.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't there.

I looked up, eyed the forest. Gone. Gone, like I knew he would be – something brushed me on the wing and I spun around, claws extended.

It had only been a leaf.

But there was something funny about that leaf. There was darkness behind it, a black mass that shouldn't have been there. A darkness that seemed to shift and writhe until it melted out of its own shadow.

And it was Dorn.

" _I'd appreciate it if you didn't sneak up on me like that,"_ I said, my heart still on its way down from my mouth.

" _Then pay more attention to your surroundings,"_ said Dorn. _"_ _A viking could have crept up on you and you would have never_ _known until his axe sliced_ _your neck."_

 _Because that's something I wanted to think about._

" _You were too focused on your thoughts,"_ he went on, _"_ _not looking at the real world."_

First I was expected to know myself, and examine my self and spend time thinking about it, and then I was supposed to pay more attention to my surroundings and know _them._

 _This is too much to ask._

" _I brought you along_ _to learn to_ _smell, to listen, to use your advantage as a Dark One."_

" _To hunt?"_ I asked.

" _That comes later."_

 _After the Auror,_ filled in my consciousness.

My consciousness, not anyone else's.

 _Of course, no lesson would start without first scaring the trainee_ _out of his wits._

Naturally.

It sounded like something Gobber might've done.

" _Eyes on me,"_ said Dorn, without ever opening his mouth. _"_ _Now on the forest."_

I looked around, seeing trees, mostly pine. Bushes underneath the trees, one of toughberry and the rest full of thorns. A ravine, hundreds of feet to our right, ran towards the sea, bed choked by rocks and rotting tree boughs.

Not another living, breathing being in sight.

But Dorn had told me to smell and listen, not see.

I extended my newfound senses, succeeded in waggling my ears.

And I heard and smelt.

Every rushing of boughs, of branches in the seaside breeze; a tinge of salt and the smell of dead fish, driven towards me by the wind. A rustling of leaves on the forest floor, quiet, now that I wasn't crashing around in the brush, and I knew where it came from. A few feet to my right, under the forest litter, nosing its way through the pinecones, was an animal.

An animal I never would've noticed if I hadn't been looking for it.

" _It's a mouse,"_ I said, feeling proud of myself.

Dorn's paw twitched. Perhaps he wanted a rodent-size snack.

" _Catch it."_

Did I want to? But already my body was stock-still, save for the quiet in-and-out of my chest in rhythm with my breathing.

It felt right, waiting like that.

The mouse, perhaps thinking that I was a shadow, turned toward me.

Almost within my reach, coming closer.

There was an animal within me, too. It wanted to leap _now_ , to impale that mouse on my talons and eat it.

Raw.

I waited, hungry, expecting my stomach to growl and scare the little rodent away. I knew it would.

But it didn't.

And the mouse blundered into harm's way.

It sniffled about, darting from leaf to leaf, scratching at the earth as it made its way toward me. It hadn't sensed me yet, was probably looking for food. A common pest, left its dung everywhere, like a proper rodent.

 _The viking solution is to kill them with throwing knives._

Closer…

It sensed something wrong and reared up on its hind legs to see.

Instinct and my mind battled.

Instinct won.

I pounced, forepaws cupped at the mouse. It squealed and bolted, not a moment too soon.

My talons scraped its tail, almost caught it, but it slipped away and I was left with two clawfuls of crummy dirt.

My eyes looked up in time to see Dorn scoop it from the ground as easily as I'd cut myself a slice of bread.

" _You pushed off wrong,"_ he said, then popped the mouse into his mouth headfirst, pushing it down with his gums, though I could've sworn he had teeth.

He finished eating, looked at me, mouth pressed into a wry crease, a dragon's imitation of a frown, and my throat was dry because he was disappointed in me. Then he shifted his gaze from me to the forest, scanned the treeline.

 _Why should I care,_ came the thought, my own, but then, it might not be. Which thoughts were my thoughts, my brain couldn't tell.

Dorn stood taller than me, above the weeds, blue-black scales taking on a green hue from the foliage. A fly buzzed by his ear and he flicked it away.

It landed on me, tapping about my scales, my sense of its movement duller than if it had been perched on my old human skin.

" _I'll be hunting,"_ came Dorn's voice, not from my ears but my mind, as if it was a particularly loud thought. Strange how the Auror worked that way. _"_ _Go back to the plateau and try to catch mice."_

By hunting he might also mean that he was hunting for a new place of shelter, not just food.

My memories provided me with a place, lit with golden sunlight, peaceful and idyllic.

" _There's a cove,"_ I said. _"_ _I found it once, on the south side of the island; lost my knife there and_ _never saw it again. It's hidden and rocky, and there's a pond."_

" _You're sure."_

" _I'd never forget it."_

Then that frown came over him again, as if he was conflicted at the mere thought of saying thanks.

" _Good to know,"_ he said. Well, it was progress.

And my stomach twisted because it meant I was becoming more friendly with him.

" _Will you take me back?"_

" _It's not far. Go yourself."_

And there went all of my goodwill.

" _I think the woods are dangerous, for Night Furies."_

Saying 'Night Fury' was a pet form of defiance, my way of not speaking on his terms. What effect it had on Dorn was hard to tell. He couldn't go without me and he knew it, and because of the risk he knew, now that my safety had been brought up, that he'd have to come along until he'd brought me to the hollow.

Home was not the hollow.

 _Home is nowhere._

" _Come on, then."_

Still, wouldn't Dorn rather have me practice in the Auror, as he had said? He had better be hunting for a cove, and he'd better know what he was doing, had better hope that rock muffled the Auror, or I'd have no chance of concealing myself.

 _A game of hide and seek, only we are the_ _mice._

 _Kill the Tyrant kill the dragons kill Dorn kill the raids kill_ _ **everything kill kill kill it all**_

A piercing pain lanced through my brain, a headache, my legs buckling underneath me, the wetness of my belly hitting the still-damp earth -

There would be no steadying touch from Dorn, just like last time, and the pain, the pain and my head was cramped at the ears and it was going to explode -

A rough, stable clasp, Dorn's talons wrapping around my chest and pulling me to my feet, legs still dangling from the suddenness of it all. My breath, coming in hot, panting torrents, body aching like my head had been smacked around by a hammer.

" _I'm fine,"_ came the words, even though my mind wasn't fine, was anything but fine.

Dorn let me go.

 _The madness spreads, and you are powerless to stop it._

There was a limit to how much I could know my self, and I was breaking it.

 _What is sanity, anyway? A thin veneer of rationale_ _to disguise our emotional selves?_

" _How far can you walk?"_

My world had gone from the outside to the inside, from the rushing of trees in the wind outside of my bedroom window to the darkness of winding, twisting thoughts in a mind stranded within itself, in a body wandering through those woods under those rushing treetops.

 _Dorn's talking to you._

" _Hiccup."_

" _What?"_

" _How far can you walk?"_

My legs were still made of jelly; they were unsteady, stumbling on the bumpy ground.

Dorn would be disappointed if he heard the truth; that my muscles couldn't handle another step. He'd see it as weak, wouldn't know the pain, wouldn't know it unless the Auror communicated my emotions. And it didn't.

 _Maybe it does, and he just didn't tell you._

 _Maybe it takes a bond._

And he was growing impatient.

" _As far as you can go."_

 _You and your big mouth._

Dorn knew that I'd said wasn't the truth. Dorn could out-walk me in his sleep, strides eating up distance like it was nothing.

He set off, trotting in the direction from where we'd come, and I turned to follow him. Naturally, my foot found the one bough large enough to trip me and caught there.

 _Face, meet dirt. Dirt, face._

" _Climb on my back, if you can't walk."_

He stretched out a wing, then pulled it back, as if thinking better of it. My claws might puncture it.

 _Shoulda ripped the membrane while you had the chance,_ came a voice, malevolent, itching at the worst parts of me, tempting me to do something that would only earn me Dorn's resentment.

Not that I should care.

 _Make him bleed._

My legs still didn't want to cooperate, but I forced them on through force of will, staggered over to Dorn and pulled myself up, claw over claw – it would be interesting, to experiment with extending them one day, if I found the time – pulled myself and held on for the ride.

Two bounds and we were already into the trees, the air tugging at my ears as we flashed past autumn foliage; orange interspersed with bright flashes of yellow and specks of dying brown, the maples dark purple, no longer smelling of nectar but the earthy tang of damp leaves that I could sense like I had never been able to when I was still human.

We'd come all this way, just to catch a mouse.

Still, the journey was short, and soon Dorn had jumped into the clearing and let me slide down. He turned to leave, already had a claw on the tree, which was already missing most of its bark on that side…

" _Won't you teach me about the Auror?"_

" _These are dangerous woods, for Night Furies,"_ he said, using my own words against me but somehow sounding much more confident. _"_ _I'm finding a safer place. And if you want to learn something, catch mice."_

And with that he turned away. A blink – and he was gone, the only thing indicating that he'd ever been there his footprints.

 _Well, at least he helped you up this time._

And still he hadn't given me a straight answer, not now. The mysteriousness was getting to me. I wanted to know his motives, wanted to know more about him, but he never wanted to give me that knowledge, instead settling on hints, glimpses of his real self.

So my time was spent thinking and trying not to think, to observe, to look, to pay attention to the outside world and not the chaos that 'I' would so much rather ignore but couldn't, because it was part of me.

Dorn, quiet as he was, had scared all of the game when he had thumped down onto the ground, carrying me. There wouldn't be much to catch here, not until my paws brought me farther afield, and they did, what was familiar terrain being replaced with things I'd never seen before.

The ground was rocky, the trees more sparse here, and open, light sifting through the leaves even though it was clouding over. Boulder tops protruded from the ground, with moss growing on them, browning with the fall, and here and there the moss was being consumed by red slime mold. I squished it because I could.

Still, nothing animal, almost as if something greater had come along before me, a fox, maybe, and frightened every rabbit and mouse back into their holes.

Why me?

Why my bad luck?

To be alone, that had been my want, back when there had been nobody more naive than myself.

 _Well, you got your wish. A week in a stinking cell with nothing more than your thoughts and some dragons you hardly knew, then days spent with this Dorn, who turns out to be almost more distant than your father._

But not quite.

 _All because you were too curious for your own good._

And the voice was right.

 _Swish,_ went my paw, and then there were little pitterings as the dirt it'd scooped fell to the stony earth.

It was difficult for the voice not to be right, in a way, because it was part of my self, change into a new self that was still part of me.

First my body changed, then my brain. Change, because I didn't want to use the word 'turned'. I hadn't turned against my village. I was still… 'me'.

 _Swish._

 _But Berk did turn against you, and they're still them._

Before it had happened, they had raised me, taught me, fed me, kept me safe. I felt I owed them something.

 _They forfeited the rights to your life-debt when they betrayed you. You owe them nothing._

And who had been friends with me? Fishlegs?

He'd distanced himself from me; they had shunned him because he associated with me, and to him popularity mattered more than our friendship.

There had been no one who had really known me, no one other than… the smith. That was what he would be called now, by my mind. Not my mentor or godfather. Just a caretaker, nothing more.

 _Hate to say it, but your subconscious has some good points._

And my thoughts had so wrapped me up that my ears never told me what was happening until it was almost too late.

 _Crunch-crunch-snap-rustle-crack-swear._

Swear?

Someone was coming through the forest, cursing everything in his way in a distinct voice.

"Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Oh Tuffnut, don't go in the forest, there's Night Furies! Oh Tuffnut, don't do that! Don't do this! Don't do anything fun! Don't get lost, because who will play pranks on us?" it came, and then, in a lower tone and slower cadence, "I'm not lost. It's just that I don't know how to get home."

 _Bonk._

It was the thump of a rock hitting something, bouncing off and careening into the forest undergrowth.

"Not a Fury. Just a tree. Just a tree."

Still, despite his obvious fear, he was coming towards me, by the sound of it. He might stumble right into me, meandering along in the woods as he was.

There wasn't much brush for cover here. My choice was to either make a run for the more sheltered part of the woods or hide underneath a rock and hope he wouldn't find me, and there was always the chance of tripping if my legs failed me during a run for it.

My instincts chose the rocks, my body barely squeezing into a crevice before it was too late, though my tail lay in the open air and I was blatantly obvious to anyone looking from the right angle.

 _You and your bad luck. Just had to have a philosophical moment at the worst time, didn't you? I'm not surprised,_ then, _There's a dozen places he can go and he'll pick the one where you are._

It would need a miracle for him not to find me.

Either someone hated me up there or the gods just weren't paying attention, because no miracle happened. No lightning flashed down from the heavens and fried Tuffnut to a crisp, no crack in the earth opened up and caused me to disappear.

This was the worst kind of waiting; waiting for my imminent doom.

"Home's gotta be that way," said Tuffnut, speaking out loud, "Or at least, I think it is. Someday I'm going to have all of these trees felled and chopped to pieces, so there."

 _Bonk._

It did little to boost confidence, his or mine.

 _Crackle-crunch-crunch._

Louder this time. My tail itched as if his gaze had already settled upon it, was going to pull me out of the hole by the membrane of my fins.

My breath came in sharp, loud gasps and it would be good if Tuffnut didn't hear them because holding it in would make my lungs explode. Phantom footsteps assailed my ears, phantom brushes against my skin.

 _Crackle-crunch-snap._

Then nothing.

Muscles tense; nothing to do but wait for whatever the inevitable would bring.

Something prodded my tail and it twitched against my will.

"C'mon snake, bite the stick."

 _Maybe he thinks your tailfins look like a head._

Poke and twitch. Tuffnut would get bored of it soon.

Sure enough, there was a tug as he yanked at my tail, my claws extending by themselves and trying to hold on just for a moment, but they popped out of their talonholds with the painful screech of nails being scraped over hard stone and my body went flying out of the crevice, Tuffnut falling backwards because of the sudden lack of resistance, before we hit the ground head-over-heels next to each other – or in my case, head-over-hocks.

Battle-rush and fear got me to my feet before Tuffnut could overcome his surprise and grab me for his trouble. He looked up, his eyes catching mine, and he realized what he'd gotten himself into.

 _Go on; shred him to pieces coward, with your sharp claws._

But he might be carrying a knife.

 _Doesn't matter you little -_

A growl came at the voice and he yelped, whipping out the small blade he used as a pocketknife and holding it towards me tip-first, his arm shaking and his eyes wild.

He'd seen me before, in the arena, but never this close, never when I was free.

"Don't come a step closer! Not a step closer or I'll cut you to bits!"

But there was no fear in me, what with him still lying on the dirt, unable to get up in time if I rushed him. There was a chance, a chance that the knife would catch my scales, but it might not pierce them.

Instinct told me it could win that fight. Instinct spread my wings to make me look more intimidating, took glee when he shrunk away. Instinct wanted to pounce, my logical mind battled to make me run away.

My mind won this time, and two bounds brought me well away from where he lay and toward the plateau, into the denser thickets so that, when my pace slackened and there was time to look over my shoulder there was no seeing him.

He could follow me into the woods, of course, discover the hideout, but he couldn't do anything to me. He was too much of a coward for that, and he'd never remember the place or the direction he'd seen me go when he got back to Berk, since he was lost.

There was nothing to fear from him now.

Still, my heart beat like a drum until he was far behind me, my footsteps bringing me to familiar ground. There was the tree, stripped of bark where Dorn always jumped to the ground, there were his footsteps on the damp earth. There was the hollow, but there was no Dorn in it.

Nothing to do but sit down and wait.

He could forget the mice.

Divider.

The sky was clearing up, almost glowed bright and blue by the time Dorn prowled into the clearing, pushing off the tree trunk and gliding to the hollow because he could, quieter than the breeze. We eyed each other for a moment, until my eyes couldn't meet his and they fell to looking at the dirt.

A talk with Dorn – it had happened before and it would happen again, and the sense of urgency was slipping away.

His 'voice' was gruff, sharp like it always was.

" _Catch anything?"_

" _No."_

" _Why not?"_

How to put this? _"I ran into Tuffnut and it ruined the hunting mood."_

" _Did it see you?"_

"… _..Yes."_

" _Did you kill it?"_

" _What? No! It wouldn't be right!"_

Dorn's face morphed into his annoyed look.

" _Well, he might not have told anyone he saw me,"_ I said, knowing perfectly well that Tuffnut was a loudmouth and would have told absolutely everyone in hearing range, once he'd gotten back home.

Not for the first time, a part of me wished that he'd gotten stuck in the woods for good. _"He was lost when I saw him. He might not have made it back to Berk."_

" _After I find it_ _it won't make it back to Berk."_

" _They'd notice he's missing!"_ I said, mind racing. Tuffnut didn't need to _die.  
"'They' would not know where it had gone."_

 _You rush to the defense of one of your torturers. Let Dorn kill him and be done with it._

Then.

 _What goes around comes around._

But Tuffnut hadn't killed me.

 _And neither will you, weakling._

" _So we don't kill him."_

" _We need to move whether_ _it dies or not. There are search parties in the woods."_

A pause from my self. Dorn called Tuffnut an it, and that didn't sit well with me.

 _Search parties!_

" _Did you find the cove?"_

" _There was no way out, had I gone in."  
"Why?"_

" _Rockslide."_

" _Oh…_ _You might be able to blast it."_

" _Too loud."_

" _Well, maybe you could push it out of the way."_

" _Still loud."_

" _Rockslides happen all the time on Berk. They won't pay attention to that as much as an explosion."_

 _Since when have you referred to the villagers as 'they'?_

It was us and them now, only my side was the dragons' side.

Oh, the sick irony of it all.

My talons clenched, unclenched, grinding the earth underneath my claws into grist. How familiar the feeling was, and yet strange; never again would there be dirt in my fingernails. My senses of smell, taste, hearing and sight were enhanced, yet the sensation of touch had been dulled.

 _Looks like you're convincing Dorn to try the cove,_ said my sarcastic side, _but I wonder how long it'll take him to make it seem that it was his idea from the start._

Dorn had already made his decision.

" _Let's go."_

" _Now?"_

" _Yes."_

It had been thrilling at first, to climb on Dorn's back like this and go zooming away through the treetops, the riding smooth but swift, as if my body was perched on a coiling spring, but now it was ordinary, routine.

Even the bright fall leaves, lightened in their orange and yellow colors by the waxed light, could not raise my spirits.

Noon; the sun had reached the top of its arc and was traveling to the west, and when it set another day would have passed; slowly, as days went when they were unpleasant.

'I' felt like life was only happening to me, that everything I'd been through had been out of my control, that I was merely reacting to circumstance, taken along for a ride.

 _How fitting._

The land flashed by, Dorn going around the back of the island, away from the village to avoid detection. Here the ground sloped and fell away to the crashing sea; high above the water my ears picked up the hiss of spray, coating the rocks with salt that would be washed away the next time it rained.

" _You should've killed it,"_ said Dorn, after a time of silence, punctuated by soft thumping as he loped across the tree branches.

And by it he meant Tuffnut.

 _Moral arguments are pointless,_ said my sarcastic side, about to give me a rare piece of useful advice. _Dorn's so high-and-mighty he doesn't need to hear what you have to say._

 _My advice is not rare._

" _Why?"_ I asked, and not waiting for the inevitably cryptic answer, went on. " _Why do you not care about people's lives, beyond what you can use them for?"_

He was using me. That conclusion had been reached a day ago. And yet his speech of freedom had been so idealistic, as if he had been convinced that he was right. Dorn couldn't pull off something like that unless he meant it.

 _Well, you hope he can't._

There was a heart in there somewhere.

" _Their lives matter less to me than mine. Every man values himself as highly as a chest of gold. But when he is dead, the gold is gone, and he is only a corpse."_

 _He does what is necessary._

But where did necessary stop?  
Dorn wouldn't hesitate to kill. Did necessary include turning the village into a flaming wasteland if it meant aiding his getaway? Did necessary include killing Tuffnut, who had done nothing wrong to him?

 _Tuffnut bullied you for years._ You _have beef with him._

 _I'm not going to act on it. An eye for an eye. What kind of world is that?_

 _Kill him kill the betrayer kill the smith kill kill kill_ _ **kill**_

 _NO!_

And all was quiet in my mind. For now.

" _Every person wants to be free to do what they want. But you're only concerned about yourself."_

" _Most dragons do not_ _want to be free, because they have never known the true winds_ _of freedom. And besides, I'm helping you."_

" _But it's good to care. If you don't care about anyone else..."_

" _I have more time to care for my future."_

One last-ditch attempt to establish rapport with him.

" _Do you care about me?"_

His silence was telling.

 _If he says yes, will he only be telling you what you want to hear?_

" _Yes,"_ said Dorn.

Should've known.

" _I care because you're useful and -"_

" _So that's all I am to you."_

" _\- you remind me of me."_

So he sort of cared about me.

At least he had given me a straight answer this time. Progress?

" _Here we are,"_ said Dorn, perhaps to change the subject.

There we were, looking over the edge of the cove from the trees, at the glimmering pool, the lime-green grass which looked like it had never felt the chill of fall. A young sapling spread its branches over the corner, and a large stone sat in the open, coated in places with moss.

It was a long way down, and the walls of the cove were steep.

What was more, the only way in had been blocked in by a rockslide since my last visit, large boulders piled up at the entrance like so many pebbles, too large and too smooth for even Dorn to scale. There were gaps where a human of my old size would've been able to squeeze through, tiny footholds for a dragon of my weight, but if anyone larger than me attempted them the rocks would fall and he would be crushed under their weight.

Besides the two of us, there wasn't a living soul in sight.

" _What do you sense?"_ asked Dorn.

" _I see a new place to live, nothing more."_

" _No. Sign."_

" _Of what?"_

" _Animal sign. Human sign."_

And there was a sudden realization that he was telling me to use my senses. To be alert, to know my surroundings. What there was to smell, to hear, to feel, not just what there was to see.

It was an extension of myself, a concentrating of focus on everything that was without, not within me. To use my senses beyond how my human self had used them.

The world was clear and sharp, as if my eyes had been underwater and someone had taken me to shore. My vision had always been this good, as a Night Fury, but it had seldom been paid attention to.

So went hearing and smell.

" _Mice,"_ I said. The smell of mouse my nose knew even when it had been human. There were other scents which were known to me. Deer. Their musk was noticeable here even though it felt old. That and that of other animals.

No fish.

And, on the winds, the slightest hint of a metallic tang, similar to that given off by rusted iron.  
There was an empty spot in my mind where my sarcastic side would normally have made a remark. _You should know,_ or, _Well, duh._ But there was no familiar voice, and part of me felt missing, somehow.

" _It smells like… metal."_

And the memory of Tuffnut's blade came back to me. How it had shook in his arms. Me. He had been scared of little old me.

A small grin came over my face at that, then was banished by the thought that metal meant weapons, and weapons meant Vikings.

" _You said no one could find this place. You were wrong,"_ said Dorn. _"_ _Someone has been here."  
"Berk is old, older than me. Maybe whatever it is could have been left ages ago."_

Dorn was unsatisfied.

" _Stay here."_

The slide off was slow, careful – it was a long way down if there was a fall – but a fear of heights had never been strong in me, and soon the rough bark scraped at my scales as my claws found a toehold.

Dorn jumped, glided the ten yards to the next tree over, making his way to the other side of the cove without once touching the ground, pausing occasionally and sniffing the air, making sure that no Vikings awaited him in the brush. But he sensed nothing, for he glided to the ground with a thump, soft enough that I never would have heard it had I been human, and prowled along the edge of the cove, peering at the ground beneath.

Dirt crumbled from the walls and he took a step back, careful not to fall in.

" _There's_ _no one here."_

Of course, he would never admit that my guess had been right, but that was Dorn.

" _And thank goodness there was nobody I knew."_

 _Funny, how you're making allowances for his behavior. You're acclimating to him, Hiccup._

 _I told you to go away_ , I said to myself, but the presence lingered, its truth still stinging in my veins.

One of these days there would be an accounting for what Dorn had done, whether or not it was my hand that delivered it.

 _Claw._

 _Go. Away._

Even if it was my sarcastic side talking, my mind had to be my own.

The bough supporting my perch hung over the cove, and it was a long crawl to the other side, where it was safe, and a longer jump down, but my talons proved capable of scaling the rough bark and I decided to leap the last five feet because I could.

My claws could have turned on the landing and broken an ankle, or my nose could've plowed straight into the dirt, but beside a jolt to my legs when they touched the earth, there wasn't a scratch or hurt on me.

It'd been done on my own initiative and not Dorn's, and that was important to me.

Because I didn't want to be weak, wanted to have defiance my way.

And where had that thought come from again? Were the values of the worst parts of my subconscious being internalized by what 'I' considered to be my true self?

Always examining my thoughts, always wondering if my self was becoming something else, another self different from the old down to the core. It was enough to drive a dragon crazy.

 _You're here, so…_

And this time my mental fatigue overcame the urge to shoo the voice into the dark corner of my mind where it had come from.

But it was time to pay attention to my surroundings. Dorn was standing at the edge of the cove, still looking around warily; he hadn't said anything to me since noting that there was no one around. Not when my self had summed up the courage to jump to the ground. It had been a good jump.

Dorn was too high-and-mighty to give compliments.

There my mind went again, thinking the thoughts of those other selves.

Holding up my talons, feeling the dirt sift through the gaps in my claws… it felt so real. The earth would always be the earth, the stone would always be the stone. There. That was a comforting thought. It was a way to deny that the person feeling that earth had become different. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. No matter what happened to me, there would always be a world in which to exist.

 _Unless -_

 _SHUT UP_

An hour ago it had all been a haze, a world blurred by emotion; now, concentrating on my senses, my self could be steadfast on the rocks, both mental and physical. A way to be sure. A way to anchor my self in safe harbor to resist the battering storm-tides of madness.

And that was just what I needed; mastery of what was my own.

 _You're not there yet._

 _Just. Just go away._

The voices wouldn't oblige. Not for the last time.  
What felt like a tapping on my shoulder, only it was in my mind. Dorn had grown impatient.

" _Getting to know yourself?"_

My eyes rose, but they could not meet his. It was none of his business.

He took my silence as its own response, then turned to the rocks. While my thoughts had been deep amongst themselves he hadn't been standing around waiting for me; already he had pushed some of the smaller rocks away from the slope, widening the small animal path that led down to the cove to make it so that a dragon could make its way in.

" _There's not enough space in the cove itself,"_ he said, pausing in his work. _"_ _And there is only one way in. This place is a trap, unless we can make a second exit."_

" _Wouldn't it also mean that it's more easily defensible?"_ was my question. Sometimes, after a long day of work, my father and Gob – the smith – would talk battle plans in the forge, close enough for me to overhear them. On purpose, of course, but it gave me some knowledge.

" _If this was a cave, then it would be ideal. But they can shoot down from the top of the cove. We'd be surrounded in any attack."_

" _Vikings don't use bows."_

" _They use bolas,"_ he said, and his tail flicked, lopsided because of the missing fin. Perhaps it was unintentional, but it drove the point home.

It was tough, not to feel guilt when he did that, but in my mind it was just. A way for him to suffer, after he'd killed so many and ruined the lives of so many more.

Every time he walked, he carried with him my mark of payback.

" _Whoever threw the one that brought you down had a good arm,"_ came the words, distancing myself from the deed, and then, absentmindedly; _"_ _My father would be strong enough to do that; I don't know if he did."_

Never mind that yesterday my mealy-mouth had told him that Stoick hadn't done it, and Dorn had accepted that fact; Dorn's attention seemed to whirl onto me, hanging onto every word spilling out of me. His mind was flying – perhaps he thought my words at the hollow had only been true because there was no way for me to know if my father had downed him or not.

The sarcastic side remained quiet.

" _Who else could have done it?"_

Dropping the 'it' about the villagers now that the man in question was important to him for personal revenge.

" _Not the smith. He has one arm. Thorvald, or a few other Vikings. They're all built like yaks."_

In Viking terms, that was a compliment.

" _I see."_

That was everything in my memory, unless I told him that I was the one, just to hurt him, to see him suffer when he had vowed to kill the man who had shot him down, but unable to finish me off because he needed me. And once we had escaped, what then? Would he kill me for a vendetta?

Thankfully, 'our' situation was more pressing and Dorn looked content to leave it at that, at least until the next time he saw one of the mentioned men. Had my words condemned Thorvald to his Dorn-brought death?

" _Help me push,"_ he said, taking me out of my thoughts once again.

" _I'm not strong enough to move that rock."_

" _Find a smaller one."  
_ A pause.

" _You've decided to use this place?"_

" _It would take too much time to find anything better; I'm not going to be a corpse. Push!"_

Eventually we found that by removing the rocks from the bottom of the pile we could gradually get the rest to settle, until the ugly boulders had reached the edge of the pond and there was a twisting path only just wide enough for a dragon to get through, the dimples left in the dirt where the stones had been wriggling with worms and threaded by bare, brown roots.

It was long, tough work, especially for my small, undernourished body, and there was gnawing hunger in my stomach by the time we were finished with it all, the sun waning on the western horizon, almost blocked out by the high cove walls.

" _This still_ _doesn't solve the defense problem; if anyone gets in while I fight the men at the top it'll be a melee and they will swarm me. If it is the peons, and that is more likely, they can hop down from the walls._ _"_

" _Wouldn't you be able to outrun them in the forest?"  
"They would fly over the trees, and surround me, communicating with the plateau was unsafe for a reason; the best way to beat them is not to be found. This rock will hide us if they come close, but you'll have to be quiet, mentally, so_ _don't think more than you can help it; you already broadcast loud enough."_

Broadcast?

" _Well, you could_ _-"_ and the plan that had been thought up over the hours of work was told to him.

" _We'd have to create_ _a second entrance out of the rocks, and this doesn't account for dragons at all,"_ he said, but it must have seemed like a good idea to him, because he didn't say it was stupid outright.

" _You're a Dark One. You'd be superior to them,"_ came my words, trying for a stroke at Dorn's ego.

" _Indeed, but they are many and I am one."_

And when Dorn said it like that it was final.

" _Better alive and free than dead and a corpse, but if you must die, die free,"_ he said, perhaps musing on things aloud, perhaps giving me advice. _"_ _If you give your freedoms away to a Tyrant for safety, eventually you will lose the safety, and everything else."_

 _Loyalty is overrated anyway._

 _It sounds like he's saying that from personal experience._

 _No voices!_

 _Face it; you can as much get rid of us as cut off your head and live to tell the tale: we're with you for better or worse._

Mostly worse.

And for now, the only thing my suggestion had created was more work. The last glow of dusk was fading by the time we were done, the orange light of an hour ago turned to red, then purple, then blue, and soon, darkness for any eyes but that of a Night Fury's, the moon's spilling silver light shaded away by the trees as it rose in the east.

" _We're finished,"_ said Dorn.

" _And I'm hungry."_

" _Catch a field mouse."_

" _Not sure I'd like the taste."_

The thought of eating rodent wasn't exactly appetizing.

The air still smelled like metal.

Starting to pace, a glimmer of something bright caught my eye, then disappeared as soon as it had materialized. There was something in the pond that had shone, briefly, illuminated by a touch of lunar brilliance.

It was only a short stride to the pool, the water lapping at my scales as my paws searched through the cool sand – found something and pulled it out of the water. It was a small knife, rotting at the hilt, and the blade was rusty, though halfway preserved by its complete submersion.

 _That's… your knife._

Barely legible on the handle was the triple H symbol that had marked my work for so long during my apprenticeship to – to – and the wood dripped in my clenched paws, the memory causing me to try and grit my teeth.

Funny, how my mouth was only gums.

My nose had picked up the scent of the blade from outside of the cove, when before, as that of a boy, it never would've smelled it past the mundane grit of sand. Yet another thing Night Furies were good at.

" _I noticed that before you did,"_ came Dorn's voice. _"_ _You've found it."_

The handle suddenly felt heavy in my paws. _"_ _It's my old knife. First one I ever made, and I lost it here. Never thought I'd find it again._ _"_

" _Let me see it."_

It swiftly changed paws, sodden from its years of wet.

" _Look there; it's my symbol."_

" _I cannot read the runes,"_ said Dorn.

" _Oh."_

It was a reminder that someone had been here, once, and that someone had been me, only a young boy, not supposed to go so far into the woods. One of my few good memories.

And Dorn crushed it.

The blade bent under the force of his paw, then snapped, shedding metallic-smelling rust as the handle crumbled away to mud, slowly, deliberately. He tossed it into the pool and my eyes followed it, body helpless to do anything but stand there as it fell into the deep end with a plunk and a splash, rippling the water that had been smoother than glass, taking with it my momentary sense of peace.

And there was only one question in my mind.

" _Why? Why ruin everything that you touch?!"_

" _Because nothing matters from your old life. It was holding you back. I got rid of the extra weight._ _"_

" _It was mine."  
"Now it is not."_

Could he not grasp that it had been dear to me?

 _No, no he really can't._

 _You should've killed him with it; raked the blade across his_ _ **throat**_

But that was murder.

 _He deserves it._

It was just a knife. Just a knife.

Material things had little meaning under Dorn's squeezing claw, but even so this memory would stick with me.

 _And get out of my head._

 _It's not going to be yours for long._

 _ **Out!**_

The effort was mentally draining, but worth it. With any luck they wouldn't bother me for a while.

Dorn had left, or at least he wasn't anywhere in sight. A focusing of my senses – he was nowhere to be sensed, or he was being perfectly still. Hunting.

Not wanting to feel his disappointed glare if he should come back and find me snoozing, my time was spent trying to catch mice. Funny, that these woods reminded me of a time spent combing through the forest, not so long ago, trying to catch a Night Fury.

Funny, that I should care what that Night Fury thought at all.

Divider.

The night was still young when Dorn glided into the cove, soaring down from a high point on the rocks, as was his habit. Perhaps he was preserving his flight skills for when his fin had healed, after what had happened to him.

It was much easier to put it that way.

My heart still twisted at his presence, and the old anger was alive, but it was tempered by familiarity and the recognizance of our – our! - need to get out of this place.

Dorn was carrying a sheep, slung over his shoulder, untouched except for the fatal blow, but beyond the thick, oily scent of dirty wool, there was the scent of turkey on his chops.

" _I don't need to ask where that came from,"_ came the words. Banter, and tired banter at that. The wonder of speaking to a dragon thrice my size had faded – and my body was growing.

So too, was my hunger.

" _You are not one to shoot the breeze,"_ he said.

" _And you aren't_ _talkative unless you've_ _a good reason to be."_

" _True."_

What was his reason?

The meat was appetizing to my dragon stomach, but the memory of rotting, raw fish was sour on my tongue. Would that there was a flint-and-steel around – but asking Dorn to fire the meat would've been wasteful. At least in his eyes. It would taste much better cooked.

Moreover, he would ask me to dig into it myself. My gut rumbled at the thought, the betraying nuisance.  
 _"_ _You've quieted your thoughts,"_ he said. Could he read my mind?

" _The expression on your face is enough. At the moment, I cannot."_

It'd been a shot in the dark, then, but it would have sent my heart into my mouth if it hadn't been so tired of being moved.

'At the moment,' he'd said, leaving me in doubt about what the Auror could do. Naturally.

He had a sense of humor after all.

" _I can sense that you are thinking, and know when your mind is unrestrained, from the amount you broadcast. You need to be quieter, mentally."_

And the double meaning was not lost on me. _"_ _Can the Tyrant pick up errant thoughts?"_

" _If her dragons are near enough. You are louder than you think."_

" _You chose this place because the rock shielded this… energy in the Auror. For me._ _"_

" _They cannot sense in, but we cannot sense out."_

A moment's pause. _"_ _Then you depend on the hope of not being found."_ Another thought came to me. _"_ _If quieting your thoughts prevents you from being heard, why bother to hide?"_

That was a good question, the answer of which needed to be said.

" _If I was away from the rocks, and one of the peons sent out a pulse in the Auror, it would resonate away from my mind and back to the sender, and the Tyrant would know of my presence."_

" _Oh."_

It didn't make much sense to me, but neither did the Auror itself, on a conscious level. Perhaps it was like a fabric of the world, only one which was influenced by it.

My stomach growled again, but Dorn took no notice. He had already eaten.

" _You may,"_ he said, answering my unasked question.

Cooking he would see as a sign of human weakness, so the mutton had to be tolerated raw. Which farm had this come from? It was a fine sheep, and one any man would be saddened to lose. Of course, nobody would miss it if it came from Mildew, except that he would make everyone else miserable over the loss. A happy thought.

There was mental quiet, Dorn standing aside. The crunch of bones was loud to me, and rude; he didn't mind, but let me satiate my hunger, which, while not ravenous, was consuming. By the time my stomach was full – but not overfull, or he would have given me a warning glance – a third of the animal was gone.

" _It was prudent_ _for us to have moved,"_ he said, when my eating was finished. _"_ _I passed a Viking war party on their way to the plateau, fifteen strong and heavily armed. There will have been more of them."_

So Tuffnut had gotten back to the village after all, and probably been cheered on for his bravado. He would exaggerate the tale, of course – say that he had battled me almost to the death, somehow without getting a scratch on him, and defeated the mighty beast, which he would portray as much larger than it was (me a mighty beast, now that was something), and then been forced to retire to the safety of Berk before the proper Night Fury arrived to defend its witchcraft-begotten dragonling.

Cowards always boasted, but there was no blaming him for what he had done. What had he been supposed to do, meeting the miniature version of the deadliest dragon ever known? The Viking wisdom was to run and hope it didn't find you, and he had followed it.

Dorn would not hesitate to make that wisdom valid.

" _You were right."_

" _I was not naive,_ " he said.

That stung.

" _Will they find us here?"_

" _There is no trace of any recent human visit besides that of your own. They can be trusted not to find this place for a few days more."_

' _Especially if you don't go around giving away our location'_ was left unsaid, but Dorn conveyed it in his tone.

Dorn cantered to the top of the cove, stopped and cocked his head, as if listening, then came back down again, saying: _"_ _It is time for training in the Auror, before the Tyrant's peons arrive."_

" _They're coming tonight?"_

" _The weather is perfect. There is no reason for them not to come,"_ he said.

" _And you climbed above the rocks to find if they were coming."_

" _Yes."_

" _Are they?"  
"They are not within my range, yet."_

And with that cheery speech, the training began.

" _Stand back, fifteen paces. Not too close the first time, so I can gauge the resonance,"_ he said, barely giving enough time to move. _"_ _Brace yourself. The Tyrant will not give you that warning."_

Bracing meant focus – how my mind was supposed to be focused was anyone's guess.

It started with getting rid of thoughts like that one.

Again my senses entered that enhanced state, but this time they concentrated on one thing; the soft soil into which my claws dug, how different it was from the gritty, rocky dirt of the plateau, the earthiness of it – and then came the pulse in the Auror, like a blast of wind from a summer storm, seemingly unending, making me feel like my body would keel over from the imagined force even though the real world blew only a lazy breeze.

But it did end, just before my head would've burst from the strain.

" _Step forward by three,"_ he said, and my legs stumbled to obey, my claws tearing at the sod in which they had embedded themselves in those long seconds. _"_ _Brace."_

There was less leeway now, and the gust took me by surprise; if the last pulse had been a storm, this one was gale-force in its intensity, and longer – was this the resonance? - or was Dorn pushing my boundaries? But it was familiar this time, and my mind weathered it out, though the blood rushed in my ears and my heart thumped a rapid beat.

Again it happened and again it was weathered, though barely.

" _Six paces,_ " said Dorn, and added, _"_ _Visualize_ _the Auror this time, in your mind,"_ as if he wasn't telling me to grasp the intangible but was instead making a remark about the weather.

He was right next to me now, within spitting distance, and the pulse might rip me apart. My eyes closed, mind focused on what the Auror might be like – as if it should care about anything Dorn said – the part of my brain where the pain centered throbbing as it was concentrated upon.

When the vision came, it was nothing more than a glimpse; a clear sky above open, but on the horizon the shadow of a looming thunderstorm, yet somehow dulled, perhaps by the rock in the real world – and then it was gone, a gust of invisible wind hitting me like a hammer, bringing me out of that state into the coarse feeling of resistance against a gale.

Pain, a fraction of a second of unimaginable, gutwrenching, lancing streaks of pain, and then it was over, my body falling onto the soft grass, tail dipping into cool water, the blood rushing in my ears fit to burst.

When my eyes unscrewed themselves the world was blurry, slowly coming back into focus, Dorn sitting at the same place as he had during the entire time of practice. He waited, until my ears could hear again, and said: _"_ _Much improved."_

" _What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, huh. That's what you think."_

And it was true.

" _Eat, if you are hungry, and rest."_

" _Thought you'd be doing this all night."_

So he was giving me a respite. Better for him not to have put me through this in the first place.

But the thing – the sky – I had _seen._

And it had been like nothing my eyes ever saw, in its depiction unlike anything they would ever see. It was my sky, it was the way my mind looked at the Auror, and it could be called a vision.

My inner senses focused inwards as my outer senses might focus outwards; the glimpse was fleet, but it was there; on the horizon the soft rumblings of a festering gale, and Dorn's presence a tall tower, a pillar of cloud unmoving, my self like the wispy bud of a cattail, blown by the winds that would take me, yet creating its own breeze.

Then it passed and left my bones tingling with the sensation that it had been something magical. This sight human minds had not been meant to see.

" _You saw,"_ came Dorn's voice, and in it was a new note that had not been there before; there was a tone that felt less condescending, as if I was nearing his equal: perhaps this was a rite of passage, in his world.

" _I did. Had you not noticed?"_

Like a gust of wind, there was the sense of something leaving me that had not been there before when I said it.

" _There was an awakening in your eyes. If it had not been there, I would have known you had not seen."_ Embedded in his voice were the words ' _Good job'._

He slid the sheep over to me and I ate, stomach suddenly as empty as it had before been full.

" _I'm tired,"_ came my words, rippling out like a wave through the air. _"_ _Is that wrong, for Night Furies?"_

" _Dark Ones,"_ he said, chiding me, but in a good-natured way. _"_ _It is natural to be tired after what you have done."_

" _You don't mind if I go to sleep?"_

" _No."  
"Is my mind quieter when I'm asleep?"_

" _Not by much. I will wake you up before the raid, so that you may be silent."_

Every little bit helped.

Dorn trotted up the path to the top of the cove, cocked his head and seemed to listen, dark scales nearly invisible in the night even to my new eyes, before they closed and my mind fell to drowsing.

Time passed in dreams. My father was here, was looking at me with a hateful eye. He raised his warhammer and it fell with the force of a mountain – then the scene had faded and my mind was in another place, looking at Berk from the vantage of the sky, only it resembled the view from the top of the mountain; the perspective changed to that of my room, green eyes faintly visible from the tree-line.

Dorn's words. _"_ _Freedom far beyond your wildest dreams."_

Then his words which were not from any memory. _"_ _Wake up."_

" _One more minute?"_

" _Wake up. The peons have arrived."_

 **AN:**

 **Does this mean that updates are now monthly?**

 **Many thanks to LiterallyHasNoOKIdeasForAName, who, contrary to his name, has given me quite a few ideas over the course of his helping me with the fic, and is one of the two reasons this chapter is not rife with errors and inconsistencies – the other being Grammarly.**

 **He has several stories on his fanfiction account – he writes for Wings of Fire – and I recommend all of them, especially Falling Snow.**

 **Beyond that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the new writing style, as I worked long and hard on this one. I'd greatly appreciate it if you left me a review, telling me what you liked and what might have been done better – what you didn't like.**

 **To Deadly-Bagel and all of the other guys who aren't fans of first-person: I'm trying. Maybe this is a step in the right direction. Did you think the use of 'my' was an improvement or did it detract from the flow of the story? - I have virtually no experience with this style, so a lot of prose was distorted when I messed with the pronouns. How was the emotional tension in this chapter? Has Dorn become more interesting or less? How, and why?**

 **These are all things that you can help me with, and even if you don't have a giant in-depth review or brilliant idea to make, it's still good to get another viewpoint.**

 **Plus, I have a plan for this story now, so there will be less of the meandering, plot-point rich but drive-poor storytelling that has unfortunately been my tradition.**

 **The review box is down below.**

 **Written: July 6** **th** **, 2019 – August 1** **st** **.**

 **Published: August 8** **th** **.**

 **Changelog: Didn't bother with dividers because the UI is being slower than molasses.**


	19. Flashpoint

**AN:**

 **What excuses, Black? What excuses?**

 **Three long trips to Missouri combined with a lack of inspiration on TiER? All I'll say.**

 **The second chap I've written with Grammarly. I had people tell me that there were missing spaces last time, but that section was written intentionally. I didn't realize, then, that it would confuse people.**

 **Are there any other typos besides? Please tell me.**

 **Update – I read it, I noticed, but until FFNs editor stops messing with my browser on 10K plus chaps there's really nothing I can do.**

 **Written: August 9th – October 5th, 2019.**

* * *

" _They've arrived,"_ said Dorn, sacrificing his enunciation for brevity, and it echoed in my mind. There could be no doubt who 'they' were.

And then there was suspense, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the urge to choke out a nervous laugh.

"Shh," said Dorn, hoarsely, and then came the realization that he was not saying it with the Auror but speaking, physically speaking, and after it, the knowledge that he wanted me to be quiet mentally. Until the dragons were gone, there could be no use of the Auror between us – and from within the cove, Dorn could not tell exactly where the peons were.

If he couldn't know where they were, why was he worried about them knowing where we were? - unless he was really that paranoid.

Well, with good reason. If one of their number flew over our heads, the only thing between us and all sorts of unpleasantness was luck and faith. Luck and faith, and the only luck that ever found me was the bad kind.

One of my favorite idioms from before came back. 'Oh, the Gods hate me,' it'd been.

And as the cool stillness of night drove a chill into my bones, the adage felt truer than ever.

Dragons roared, and soon – soon, smoke would rise from the village.

At home there would be fighting in the heat, blazing flames licking at house rafters, the foundation already consumed in the bright inferno. The fire brigade would be there, with their buckets, as they always were. They wouldn't miss me, for they had never known me as one of them.

But the flames did not rise. Perhaps they could not be seen by my eyes, down in the cove.

"Shh," said Dorn.

Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, and the rising moon slowed to a crawl. Then, it flickered, as if something had moved in front of it, blotted out the cooling light.

A dragon?

It could only be hoped that it was a bird, or a bat.

My mind poked at the Auror, trying to regain that vision. A blink – all that was beneath me was empty space, and above me dark clouds pressed close, festering – and it was gone, leaving me with a sense of coming evil.

Dorn saw me shiver.

A raid could be over in fifteen minutes, could last for five hours, could be fought until the break of dawn. This time the raid was merely a distraction; perhaps they sought us in the arena and had gone after it as well.

Perhaps the Tyrant fed on destruction.

Quiet for a while; my body curled up, yet could not sleep, and my eyes watched. Then Dorn's ears twitched, turning as if searching for a sound. They cupped in a direction behind him, and a moment later the noise came to me, and was heard.

Footsteps; not the crackle of leaves, but the snapping of sticks and boughs, the sound of big animals abandoning stealth for speed.

No, not animals. Men.

And then, voices.

"Should never 'ave come out 'ere so late," said a voice, the pant of heavy breathing tangible to me.

My ears twisted like Dorn's, as if they always had, and would. Instinct again, and it knew they were close without having to think. No more than four-hundred paces, and even they might pass us by.

There was only to wait, and hope that there would be no dose of Hiccup luck.

For a short, short time it seemed like there wouldn't be. They sounded like they would go right past – and then there was a _thump_ , probably the sound of someone dropping into the ravine. And the ravine went straight into the cove.

Which way the men chose depended on their sense of direction.

Shuffling noises as a company came to a halt – that was my guess, and murmuring.

"Which way?" came a voice. Haldric? Thorvald?

"Follow tha' light of tha' beacons."

And the group began to move, slowly at first, so that my ears could not tell their direction.

Dorn tensed beside me. Too soon.

A dragon cried above, a low, whistling roar, perhaps of frustration. That cry was known to me. Nightmare.

Then the flapping of bat-like, leathery wings, only with spines where its hackles would be, wicked and sharp.

And the Vikings blundered onward like yaks, loud and obvious, to my new ears. They, too, knew that cry – and that a Nightmare might burn the forest at its leisure, steaming them alive.

Back in their direction went my gaze, and saw the light of a lamp, orange like that of a bonfire, only it bobbed along with its owner; a little glow to guide the Vikings by.

Another roar from the dragon; the lamp stopped, dimmed, as if covered, but not snuffed out.

Down swept the Nightmare from on high, the better to investigate, its wings beating with the sound of a wind-filled sail flapping in the breeze, and Dorn went stock-still, barely breathing.

The sky was lighter to my eyes, the Nightmare brighter than Dorn had been on that night, and the dragon was easy to see. It swung overhead, and all my instincts told me to run, human and dragon.

The sense of evil returned, crushing at my sides, and then it disappeared with the dragon, leaving me with a clenched stomach and racing heart.

It was different from the presence of the arena dragons, whose presence had been almost unnoticeable. Within that Nightmare resided… something.

The dragon swooped away, and the light moved on, though it was dimmed.

A shadow behind the lamp; through the branches of the trees could be seen the outline of a man. My hope was that he could not see me.

Behind that shadow loomed other shadows; the shapes of burly Vikings.

Dorn vanished beside me, bright green eyes closed, and it did not occur to me why he had.

Then the light-bearer emerged from the woods, swung the shaded lamp around him, the better to see.

He spoke in a whisper, but his tone and voice were clear. "Darned if we'll 'ave ta' go round," he said. "Don' fall, or ye'll learn wha' it's like ta' break yer legs, and won' be a clean break."

"Long way down," said a Viking, dutifully speaking the obvious, as they began to walk around the lip of the cove.

"I see something," said a voice, and it was Haldric's. He was looking right at… me.

The smith held up the lamp, and the gleam of its light reflected from my pupils. Too late, my eyes closed.

"Yeh saw what I saw?" he asked. "And us with bolas along…"

"But Berk -," said one, but Haldric held up his hand, quieted him.

"It hasn't been attacked son, not yet. Are you saying we should run from a fight?"

"This dragon is here, not there," said the smith.

Haldric – Haldric had seen my change. Would he have sympathy?

Then came the words so common to every Viking. "Kill on sight, men, and there will be one less Night Fury out for the blood of your families."

A blink into the Auror's skyscape, and Dorn's cloud flashed lightning. A low hiss from him, audible to only my ears, and there was the understanding. This was my fault. This was my fault, my mistake and no undoing it.

Worse than useless.

And where my mind had come to expect a presence on the Auror, from the men, there was nothing, as if they did not exist. Scary, to not exist.

 _And the noise of fighting will bring the dragons, and the dragons will bring fire, and they shall torch this place, and there shall be death and dying and destruction, and why?_

There was no need to answer my question.

 _You._

 _We're catching up; can't keep us away forever._

"Shh," said Dorn, quiet. His breathing was still paced, and the low beating of his heart was steady, but he was tense. Like a spring, coiled and ready to leap. All this could be told by hearing.

Well, there was my plan…

My eyes opened, only a crack, soon enough to see the smith throw a firebrand into the cove. The torch fell short, smoldering in the grass, and then my eyes forced themselves away, to keep from losing their night vision.

' _Better alive and free than dead and a corpse, but if you must die, die free',_ Dorn had said, this very evening. He was going to make a bang, live or die, when they got closer.

Maybe the Vikings felt overconfident. Maybe they did not know Dorn was there, and thought the only prize to be taken was me. Maybe G – the smith felt guilty for allowing me to escape, or needed to build his standing after playing devil's advocate.

There was a Viking saying about Night Furies, one passed down from Bork the Bold and immortalized in the Book of Dragons.

 _Hide, and pray it does not find you._

Oh, the irony.

Down they came through the path we had carved for them, bolas in hand, shields at the ready, each casting his gaze around the width of the cove nervously while trying not to appear nervous to his fellows. Grim was the thought that the shields would allow Dorn to kill them one at a time.

But that was not the plan.

Weighing consequences, picking his moves and cursing himself, like as not, that was Dorn, for this place was a box. If there were only the men, or only the dragons, then it would have worked out aright.

Onward edged the vikings, and the smith threw another brand. The burning wood bounced from a rock and landed at my feet, revealing us both.

A great rush – my eyes shut for the flash – purple, racing light, and then… _boom,_ and after the boom, a great shifting of rock, the stones crashing down onto those unlucky Vikings who'd been caught in the thick of it. There was power in that blast, awe-inspiring power, and terrible. This was the might every Fury held in his jaws.

And at my talons, the torch lay charcoaled, only a red glow coming from it, for it had been near-snuffed by the fireball.

Then the light faded away and the rocks stopped tumbling, and the pit of my stomach turned to sickness.

" _Are they… dead?"_ came my words. The blast had ruined my night-vision, and the only flicker to be seen was that of the lamp, lying upon the grass.

And if they really were dead – Haldric and Thorvald and Goatlout and Gobber… gone… my plan had helped kill them. It had been my plan to carve out the rubble so that it would fall. My plan that had allowed Dorn to kill them at a blow.

In that thought came the realization that it was not only Gobber who had betrayed, but also myself.

" _I think a few died trying to kill us -"_ said Dorn, moving. He pulled from where I lay, just before a net careened into the rock behind me, _"but the rest are still kicking. Move!"_

A roar from the trees. The dragons had heard.

 _Oh, now you've gone and done it._

My vision returned. There was Gobber, alive and pulling himself up with his good hand. There were another five men, one of them probably Haldric or Thorvald.

 _Perhaps you've killed Astrid's father. Think about it, while you're alive to._

 _I didn't. Dorn did._

But it was a weak excuse.

" _Hiccup! Head out of the clouds!"_

And Dorn shouldered me aside.

"Capture it! Before another man dies!" came Gobber's shout. And as soon as he was in danger of death, my mind thought of him as if it were still the lowly apprentice, and he the master smith.

My talons flexed, just to prove to my mind that they were not made of stone. A strange sort of paralysis came over me, and for a moment my body seemed far and away, and what was left was to watch the clash unfold, fascinated. Like two bulls charging each other. It was going to end in disaster, but there was no way to tell, yet, for whom.

The battlefield was lit in moonlight, and picking over the rubble came men from the other side, nervous. But they knew this was their chance, maybe an only chance. And in the shadows were the men, seeing Dorn's eyes and knowing where he lurked.

Bolas were thrown, but Dorn was keen to avoid his first mistake – my eyes saw dark as if it was dawn, and dawn as if it were day – he pulled back his head and the nets missed, hit trees, wrapped around rocks, fell into the pond. Then he disappeared around a knoll, popped out the side, where a tall, thin viking had tried to sneak up on him in the dark.

Dorn whipped the man with his wings and butted him back, then blew flame. When it was gone, the viking had disappeared; perhaps he had run, perhaps he had died, perhaps he had saved himself with his shield. But that had told the men where he was, and a dozen more nets flew towards him, several from those still climbing down the hill.

He ducked, and they missed, though a stone smashed him on the nose, and he growled then, though it was more a half-tamed roar, a cougar's rumble. Then they stormed him, shields up, running round the bend of the knoll because their lives depended on it, but he had already fallen back to the other side of the hill, and was waiting for them.

And all the while they had missed me, holed up in the corner, the only place away from trampling feet, crushing hammer and sharp axe. All the while, there had been the ominous beat of wings, the warbling of terrors. Now came the peons, but the men were too wrapped up in the fighting to notice, too close to their prize to stop and listen.

" _The dragons are almost here, and then you'll be taken or killed by one of the sides,"_ came my words, and beneath them, a mental tone of 'I told you so'.

" _I know_ ," said Dorn, and in his thoughts came a hint of hopelessness. We had failed – but that was merely my emotions telling me we had failed, failed to get away. Even my plan had not saved us, and if it and Dorn failed, everything would.

 _There is hope yet._

A litany of things ran through my mind then. 'If only you could fly', 'torch them and we'll get away to the forest', and 'don't kill them'. And then my body felt frozen, as though doing nothing was not worse than doing anything, anything at all.

From the Vikings to Dorn, from Dorn to the Vikings my eyes darted, and then into the air. Thence came Nadders, Gronckles and Nightmares and, hanging back, Zipplebacks. The Tyrant did not want to kill us by blowing us up.

 _The Vikings can be used,_ said a voice of cunning. _They will fight and you may escape to live another day._

 _And Dorn?_

 **He deserves what he'll get.**

A roar – a Viking dashed past me. No time to gloat, no time to gloat – a part of me felt like dwelling over Dorn, telling him his fate, and another felt that it was far from out of the woods.

Did he really deserve this?

 _Because he sure helped you out,_ said a familiar voice, and then, _It's all up to you._

Two instants and it would be too late to make a difference – and Dorn must already see the window for escape. If he had not taken it, that meant he could not.

This was my decision.

My paws stepped forward, head raised and eyes open, eyes out.

And I roared, and it was a roar distinguished from all the other roars and cries drawing near, the grunts of men and the hisses of the dragons closing in.

The men heard it, paused in their step, turned their heads toward me, and all of my fate hung in the balance, because all of my fate was pinned upon Dorn. It was working!

 _ **YOU ARE MINE!**_

My legs buckled underneath me suddenly and my mind was kicked into the place of the Auror and saw the vision, only instead of a pleasant ocean my place was underneath a raging thunderstorm, the clouds drawing ever nearer, ever closer to swallow me up and bring me into their domain.

This was the Tyrant. This was the Tyrant and I was doomed, I the true I, and all of those who dwelt within my mind.

 **NO!**

Hate met hate, and the Tyrant's hate was winning, pushing me back in the real world and the physical.

The Vikings could not communicate in the Auror, supposedly could not sense it, but the hair stood up on the backs of their necks and they shivered, shivered against their will because something was going on that went far, far beyond them.

And Dorn – Dorn was the pillar who was being crushed, ground slowly into dust by the force of the Tyrant, a force bringing all its power to make us its unwilling slaves. With the last of my cognition my body leaped forward, into Dorn's circle of influence, nearer his breaking cloud.

Wind surged outwards and beat back the storm. It tried to reach out, to swallow us up and end us, but our gale kept it at bay. Our gale. Our storm.

The battle in the Auror had turned.

" _We're winning!"_

" _They'll try to take us in the real world,"_ said Dorn, and he lunged towards me, lunged towards a fate in which we were free, his legs springing from the ground, sluggish because of his mental effort.

Fast enough.

A Nadder's claws buried themselves in the dirt behind us, and Dorn darted left to avoid a Viking before him.

 _Almost to the exit. Almost to freedom!_

The Vikings would fight the dragons because they were there, grant a shield of protection, yet danger. Skirt the edges and we would be safe. Skirt the edges and we could last until morning.

 _Granted the Vikings don't give out in strength._

Left, and right, and up the rocks that led out of the cove, along the only remaining pathway – but there was a Viking there, a Viking climbing out of the rocks. Dorn saw him, tried to spring over him, but the man reached up his hand and Dorn met it with his chest. A crack echoed through the boulders, the sound of a breaking bone, and Dorn was over the man – but his leg must have caught on the man's chest, for we went tumbling across the ground.

My head banged into something and the world went quiet, the sound of battle dulled by the ringing in my ears. Someone grabbed me, Dorn, though his presence remained, ever near and ever resisting the Tyrant's gales. The yelling of men was close, and my body was jostled. We were going somewhere.

" _Thanks for carrying me,"_ came my words.

Then an answer rang back through the turbulent Auror-scape.

" _I am not."_

Craaap.

* * *

 **Since there's been a dearth of updates on this story lately, check out my other fics on my profile – five of them. You may like what you see.**

 **As always, leave your thoughts in the review box below; thoughts and suggestions. Feedback makes my day. Thank you in advance.**

 **Signed, Black.**


	20. Fullfillment

**Chapter 20:** _ **Fulfillment.**_

* * *

 **Written: October 5th – Monday, November 18th, edited on December 2nd.**

 **Released Monday December 2nd.**

* * *

Then it dawned upon me who was hefting me, bucking me along in one arm to the rhythm of men's shouts and dragon's roars.

No Night Fury known to me, but a Viking, and a strong one at that, though he did not have the smith's gait. That they were taking me along instead of executing me on the spot was a surprise – perhaps saving me for later death. Perhaps my blood father had arrived, and they were bringing me to him.

Whatever for, my life was preserved a few more precarious hours.

More jostling, and then into the village, where it was safe, beneath the light of the high fire-towers that burned their orange light through the cowling of my eyelids. To open them meant to show consciousness.

Beneath the fire-towers which had been toppled by my actions. And weren't those fond memories.

"The dragons follow! The Stalker – the Fury is a curse!"

"Kill it quick and they'll abandon us."

"They may be enraged that we have killed their kin."

"We are always killing their kin."

"Quiet!" boomed Gobber's – the smith's voice. "Who among ye will do tha' deed?"

A quiet. Someone shuffled his feet.

"They might get angry," said someone who my mind barely remembered. "Ain't my business to mess with dark magic."

Goatlout.

"Kill it and we remove the teeth of the beast," said Thorvald.

Someone dropped me on the ground and my body hit the dirt with an ungainly thump, knocking the air out of me.

"Ain't wakin' up," said one. "Brained in the fall?"

"Doubt it. Leave it by the house."

 _Just kill us and end it already._

 _We'll make it._

A pause in my mind while my lungs caught their breath.

 _We have to._

Dorn's presence drew farther away. The strength of the resonance faded and the Tyrant's presence pressed closer, crushing at the bulkheads of the mental barriers. My eyes screwed and the headache worsened, and my mind felt the peons drawing closer, heading between myself and Dorn, as if to sever the link.

And if that happened -

"AWAY CATAPULTS!"

Without the Night Fury to take them down, the great structures had survived the duration of the raid. The picture in my mind's eye was as vivid as if it had been viewed in the real world. The catapult arms roared like thunder and the boulders plowed the air above a moment later. It was a sight that had filled me with awe, watching from under the awning of the workshop away from the grinder, looking upon a great show of mechanical power, looking upon the unfortunate dragons swept away by the rocks whistling away into the night. And after every firing came the splashes, illuminated by the orange light of the towers, rising from the sea as geysers and crashing down into the waves.

 _Splash –_ and the peons dividing us had been tossed into the ocean as so many leaves blown by a gust.

The dragons let out a great mental scream of rage, enough to make my eyeballs feel like they'd pop out of their sockets.

 _This great evil._

 _Where'_ _s_ _it come from?_

 _It's doing this._

 _It's killing us._

 _Marking us with its horrible stamp of death._

"Move!"

Then came the crackle of fire, the fwoosh of flame rolling from dragon jaws, close enough to make me curl from old reflexes.

Too close, was my thought, and then it hit me. My nostrils shut too late and were burned, and the blood roiled in its vessels, as it did when my body was dumped into a scalding bath. The heat peaked and was gone, and left my body feeling as if it had been baked in an oven.

My eyes opened, crackling as old parchment does when unrolled by a hasty hand, and saw the sparse grass, brown beneath me, and scalded black a few feet away. The dragon had missed – a look up and it was dashing at me, dashing to pick me up in its jaws -

Its death was swift. The Vikings attacked the dragon from all sides in the pathway, slashed and hacked and hammered.

Then it fell, a dead body toppling with all the grace of a house imploding on itself. Its head landed next to me, eyes unmoving and senseless, the last of the life vanishing from them just as they met my gaze.

 _That could have been Stormfly._

 _That could've been_ _you_.

It was the eyes. It was Dorn's eyes that had undone me.

 _And about that house…_

A fiery beam landed by my head, showering me with flickering splinters, and there was creaking and popping above me, another about to fall. It made me scoot, still fending off the Tyrant, running on instinct and fear, no idea of where my legs were taking me save that they worked.

A Viking ahead, a burning inferno on my left and a ten foot drop on my right, and no telling what was down there except that it was in the direction of a Night Fury, a Dark One. My talons met open air and windmilled, and my eyes looked down and gauged the distance to be twenty and not ten.

Open snapped my wings.

Flight!

 _More like a controlled fall._

My paws hit the ground and furrowed the dirt, stumbling, the will of the Tyrant pouring onto me, a Viking liable to come up at any moment and slice my head off. Senses. Senses.

Another burning house nearby, proud carvings crumbling to charcoal, and the air twisted with heat. A woman on my left, and Dorn ahead of her, creeping in a shadow beneath a firelit wall, close enough to reach, close enough for the clear sky beneath the Tyrant to redouble.

Nadders shot spines and Gronckles grumbled and Zipplebacks shrieked, all winging toward us, and the Vikings defending from where we were, though they did not see us, the escape to the great hall cordoned off by a Nightmare and dozens of scuttling terrors.

 _"Pull back to that large building of theirs,"_ said Dorn, loping away from the firelight even as the flames spread. Chaos reigned. All it took was one javelin hitting his blurry outline to end him.

My ears folded back, even then could hear the booms and cracks and whizzes, spurting washes of flame and inhuman roars.

The Vikings knew they would be overwhelmed if they held out here; already they were pulling back in a fighting retreat, surrounding the Nightmare blocking the way in the houses and the wreckage, trying to force it into the air if nothing else.

Airborne it went, flying all screwy, probably bashed by a hammer.

Just like Stormfly.

And now the path was clear. Warriors took advantage of the gap, fighting in loose groups of four or five, two on either side of the street and the rest strung out, close enough to support but far enough that no dragon would get all of them if it careened into the ground.

We went with them.

Dorn looked at me and my gaze met his. If the Vikings went into the great hall neither of us could get in, and we'd be doomed to the fate doled out by the Tyrant.

Behind its peons lay devastation. The raid when my bola had hit Dorn was nothing to this; the houses being torn apart by dragons just because they could, no frame left and the timbers burned down to the pits in a morass of destruction.

The Vikings fought valiantly. My eyes fell upon Astrid in the second row, her water bucket gone and her hair disheveled, wielding her axe like a valkyrie at the Terrors infesting the streets, keeping them from tearing at the Berkian rear flank and undermining the defense.

But my old feelings for her did not stir; no infatuation, no burning heart.

" _Let's go,"_ said Dorn, before my mind could puzzle it over. _"Quickly."_

He lead the way, cantering low even through the pain and the cacophony and the tempest in the Auror, and my steps followed, till he'd slipped past Astrid from where we'd been at the edge of the lines and ducked through a hatch at the foundation of an old house located just in front of the Great Hall; the Jorgenson's place, with a cellar and a tunnel wide enough to fit a man if he needed quick entry or exit.

Stranger things had been built.

There was a man upstairs; wounded from a burn, and my nose picked up the charred, oily scent.

Her Ugliness knew we were here, and would try to breach the place, and the Vikings would keep her from it, but they would not go inside of it unless wounded anyway, for there was always the chance of a Zippleback coming up and blowing the building to smithereens.

Dorn nosed open the escape hatch, just in case.

" _The air's better down here,"_ came my words. _"And the Auror feels clearer somehow."_

Rapping the walls with his tail, Dorn spoke. _"The ground muffles the Tyrant, and the structure helps, though the building is mostly made of empty space. Thick timber."_

The villagers were being used, were fighting their hardest, had no idea why the dragons were so vicious this night. Me and Dorn, we were using them, two men staying in another man's house, taking his things without his permission. And that was wrong.

But we would be out of here soon.

A look over to Dorn, his eyes staring off into nowhere in particular. Who knew what he was thinking, besides himself?

 _Kill him, while he's unaware._

 _Tell him you shot him down._

The easiest option was to do nothing. My lips pursed, an old habit from the old days when my mouth had been needed to speak – so hard, to be different.

A boom sounded, thumping and cracking as the shatter of rock or the splinters of wood being shattered by rock, and the floor of the cellar vibrated beneath my talons and made them rattle. And another, and another. Catapults – but no catapult could fire into the village itself, the launchers built in a way to prevent that very thing from happening by accident.

Dorn started faintly; only my experience with him let me tell; to old me he would've seemed as serene before the impacts as afterward.

" _What is it?"_ he asked. He did not know, could not react because he did not know what he needed to react to.

" _Ships. The Vikings are firing into the village from ships. Only Stoick."_

" _Stoick?"_

My father. Dark humor welled up within me, reached my throat and choked. How would he handle it when he learned of what had happened to his son? What would've happened if Dorn had not changed me, if my knife had gone to his heart, or if he had merely escaped from me because he had not believed me to be the right choice? Dragon training could've been mine to claim, acceptance from the village, maybe, then that they would've seen my accomplishments.

That or they would've continued to think me a fool.

" _The chief,"_ came my words, neglecting to mention he was my father; a poor one, but a father. All that hate and all that loathing and all the disappointment felt weaker knowing he was here, and if my body was different and things had taken another course there would've been a chance, a chance for his approval.

 _That was what you wanted. All you wanted him to say was 'good job'. You know what it would've meant to you. But he never did, did he? Quit mulling over the past; it's gone now, and even if you get your revenge you'll never feel the fullness in your heart you would've felt if he'd. Just. Been. A good. Dad._

" _It's alright,"_ said Dorn, feeling my emotions somehow, as much caring and more encapsulated in that sentence as had ever been from him, and still distance remained, because he did not know how to close it, didn't understand, maybe – and here was a thought – that being around me had changed him.

" _Do you think he'll win?"_

" _Against everything? The peons cannot stay forever. Eventually their bodies will become too tired. It all depends on whether your father -"_ he knew! " _can hold out until morning."_

He curled his tailfin forward and looked at it, the site of the torn flesh scored gray and lumpy, imperfectly healed, but it was healing, a sizeable flap extending from the wound scars, and he must have been wondering if it could keep him aloft during our flight for freedom; improbable, but he and myself had made it this far and there was no point in giving up now.

When he had fought in the cove – he was surrounded, but he never succumbed to his fate. There would always be a way out, if he looked hard enough and worked hard enough, and planned.

 _What a night, what a night._

And when my eyes were heavy and my body turned to sleep, he was there beside me, a strong presence in our endless vigil, riding the storm out.

* * *

The day dawned in the Auror first, invisible light shining through the walls and into me, washing away the traces of the Tyrant rolling over the shield of resonance. Dorn felt it too, stirred from where he had stood, a sturdy oak holding against roaring winds, upright through it all.

My body felt natural now; gone were the days of awkwardness, even in my regular old human self. Clumsy was a thing of the past. Hunger remained.

A mouse peeped out of a tiny hole, scuttled out on its tiny pink feet and snuffled for crumbs, just out of reach of my paws. A pounce, aiming behind it for where it would try and run back to safety. Its reflexes were too slow to save it, and it was swept up in my paws in an instant.

Appetizer.

" _Good job,"_ said Dorn, and even if it was not the same feeling that would have welled up if my real father had said that, it was enough.

" _Do you want any?"_

" _Keep it. It's yours."_

Morning air curled in through the cellar hatch, light and cool to go with the first food to fill my belly in hours.

" _Is this the last day I'll ever see Berk?"_ came my words. _"We're leaving, aren't we?"_

" _We're leaving,"_ said Dorn. " _We'll have to get a drink of water and a little more to eat, but we're leaving. Anything you want to do before we go?"_

 _Maybe something for the villagers to remember you by, if you ever come around?_

Ha. That was a letter for Dad, who'd never done enough? Leave a message for Gobber, who had betrayed me? Write in the dirt at the doorsteps of the gang, who had tormented me in their twisted pursuit of _fun?_

But Stoick was my father, and he deserved something at least, and there was always Stormfly, humorous Stormfly, who'd taught me how to set myself free. There was still homage left to pay, even if she would be left behind.

" _Can I put a letter in my old house for my Dad to find?"_

" _A dangerous village, for Night Furies,"_ said Dorn, using my term for us, and there was a glint in his eye and a little twitching of his ears and it told me he was joking.

 _A little bit insane, sure,_ said one of the voices, me but not me, a conversation in my head that had morphed into an internal speech entirely different from that which it had begun.

" _The villagers are all asleep from fighting the raid and I don't think Dad's gonna be up and…"_

" _You can go,"_ said Dorn. _"Be quick."_

" _Or what? You'll blast me out?"_

" _No, not this time."_

We squeezed up through the cellar hatch and out into a world before the sunrise, dawn spreading in the east over a cool ocean, the roar of waves and splash of spray never far away, dew beaded on the grass, my paws leaving wet impressions as they passed. The village was quiet, very quiet, only from the next house there drew a muffled sob. A viking had died last night.

My paws padded to the wall of it, burned and charred, whitened with soot; yet this house had escaped destruction. The Tyrant was an evil on this world. My shoulder rose and my claw met the wood, then drew away. The dwelling of my father was up the hill, at the very top.

The walk there was slow, my steps faltering because of dread, until my feet stopped just before the door, the door Dad had shut on me when he'd left. It was open, opened outwards with a little creak, and there was my father before me, sitting on his chair before the fire, seemingly asleep, his cheeks ruddy and his beard slicked down as if wet, though the night before had been hot with flames.

Was it from tears?

He did not cry.

By him went my path, and behind him, passing him, up the stairs, so much more quiet than my human form could ever have been, and a light hop over the sixth step. Here was the short hall, and there was the window where a glimmer of green had shone in my vision, round things that must have been Dorn's eyes. There was an old toy sitting by my bedstand, a Nadder, Mom's.

Dad would need it more; what use was it for me now?

And there was my bed, the covers never made from where my tossing had rumpled them on that sleepless night.

A deep breath from me, a sigh. No one would hear me sob, and my throat tied itself to knots, a wry sort of smile on my face, a feeling felt from old things that would never be again.

My journal was on the floor, forgotten, and an old charcoal pencil near it. What would it say? My claws picked up the charcoal, opened the cover and began to write.

For closure, if nothing else.

 _Stoick._

 _I'm not going to apologize for anything, I just… We've done a lot of wrong by each other. I don't think I need to list any examples. I guess all I wanted was… well, for you to say 'good job, son', once in my life. But you didn't, and to me that was as bad as if you'd thrown me to our resident neighborhood wolfpack I know is lurking in these woods somewhere._

 _Well, I say 'was'. Now it doesn't matter as much to me._

 _I… I am still your son._

 _You're my new godfather._

 _Feels bittersweet. I don't think I ever would've given up on you, which was foolish, I admit._

 _I did shoot down that Night Fury. You probably know what happened next. My rush to earn your love got me changed on the outside.  
That wasn't what changed me inside._

 _I realized the villagers would never accept me, you might never have accepted me. Maybe they would have taken me in – if I'd killed a Fury. On that path lies an outcome very different._

 _It was my choice to choose._

 _I chose the road less taken, and it leads me off this island._

 _I will forgive, but I will not forget._

 _Goodbye._

 _Hiccup._

* * *

The entry was written, handwriting a half-legible dragon-scrawl, but at least it was my scrawl. Dad… Dad might never comb through my stuff, the way he'd never finished going through Mom's. The journal fit easily into my mouth, carried just right, though the spit might never wash out.

Going down the stairs was easy, but the journal distracted me, and my paw found the sixth step. It creaked, loud as a dragon's roar to my ears, and Dad stirred.

"Hiccup," he said, and my muscles tensed, but he did not stand up and turn as he had before. "I've decided… I miss you. I should've spent more time with you, like I should have had with Valka, should've been here to keep you safe, done things differently. You're out of my reach now, and I know you'll never hear this but… I'm sorry. For everything I did. I'm alone in this world now, and it's my fault things had to happen this way, that I come home and I have to talk to ghosts."

A leather-bound book slipped into his hand, and then my footsteps echoed in the old house, the last sign of my presence the softly closing door.

Dorn was at the edge of my consciousness and in the forest just up the hill, drinking from the old stream, oily scent of sheep curling to my nose from upwind. He had eaten one, it looked like, another half and left some for me, something proper to eat, and it was easy enough to do so, a few gulps of water chasing the food down my dry throat.

The sun was over the horizon now, beginning its slow march towards the tip of the sky.

" _There's one more person,"_ came my words. _"Or dragon, take your pick. The Nadder in the arena."_

Dorn fluffed his wings. _"We'll fly there."_

" _It's been a while. Still have the skills?"_

" _It would be hard to lose them. It is more my muscles which have decreased. We will have to stop often."_

He bent his knees. _"Hop on."_

A wilder ride would be hard to find. His balance was off and he tipped left the first try, wing skimming the grass before he rolled right and steadied himself, racing down the hillside, his ears fluttering with the breeze he made with his flight. The wind battered at my eyes and did not hurt them. Was this what freedom felt like?

Dorn swooped across the canyon and landed just outside the kill ring, the gate open, surprisingly.

" _What…? That's why,"_ came my words. Tuffnut was passed out on the sandy ground of the circle which had once bore my pacing feet, a bucket full of dirty soap water by his side and a mop handle crossed over his stomach, the brush end tickling at his face.

He had been one of the ones to prank me, but now… and here he was so peaceful… it was hard to hate the kid with my new perspective. So many things that had seemed important meant nothing.

Our talons clicked on the cold stone as we moved forward, stepped over Tuffnut, snoozing as though unaware of our presence. There was the dragon wagon standing in the middle, repaired of the hole punched in its bottom by my feet so long ago, yet still bearing the lettering my claw had scratched into the headboard.

TROLLS GET LEFT SOCKS, it noted, and, to the side and in scraggly, bent carving, BRICK STEW.

This was the place where they would have killed me, where my father would have presided over the death of his son, where death would have met me, and hopefully an afterlife.

 _Because obviously it's a good idea to dwell on that. Best to move on, don't you think?_

Eerie, the loneliness here.

" _Stormfly?"_

A tiny breeze sung out into the Auror, found the small puffball that was the Nadder.

" _Hiccup! Is that you?"_

" _Your very own walking pincushion,"_ came my words. _"I saw what happened before Dorn busted me out."_

Another voice joined the conversation. _"Pipsqueak?"_

" _I've grown a little,"_ came my modest words. _"Met a few people. Got out after all. I guess I wanted to… to thank you for helping me get out of my bonds, Stormfly, and helping me cope. I didn't actually lose my memories, and maybe it would've been better if I did, probably it would've been worse. You got me off my tail and moving, really did, with those spines, an stuff. Grouch and Grumps – that's my name for you Zipplebacks – Zippleback? – Zipplebi? – taught me there was more to talking than the Auror."_

" _So does that mean you're letting us out?"_ asked Stormfly.

The storm of the Tyrant rose, but resonance kept it out, and it barely registered to me, though it should have.

" _Heck, the last time I did that it was the worst mistake I did ever make… except, well, a lot of things."_

A questioning look at Dorn. He shook his head in an almost human way. Maybe he thought they'd send a message back to the Tyrant, or they might still have loyalties or whatnot.

" _Guess I can't, then. I'm learning my new heritage. And to Dorn,"_ came my words, and Dorn's face changed in that way that meant surprise. _"You said once that I'd thank you one day. I do, you smug dragon who insists on calling himself a Dark One, even though Night Fury is better."_

" _Great, great, great, I didn't hear anything about letting me out. Pleeaase?"_ asked Stormfly, the sheepdog eyes carrying through her voice. She made it sound like she was almost in pain from not getting to stretch. _"Pleeaase?"_

" _Oh, alright,"_ came my words. _"You better go back in when you're done."_

Pulling open the release lever was easy. Stormfly hopped out and looked around at her surroundings like a curious bird, that screwed-up look of hurt in her eyes, as though the injury from the hammer hadn't yet worn off.

" _I'm sorry about this,"_ she said, and lunged.

Quick as she was, Dorn was quicker. A weak blast hit Stormfly in the chest, bright enough to blind the both of us, and then a pair of claws had scooped me up, too small to be Stormfly's. A roar from behind, of pain and frustration. She was alive, at least, and that was good, but… what had happened there?

" _The rise in the Auror, the pain in her voice. The Tyrant was coercing her,"_ said Dorn. _"She was sorry, but there was nothing she could do."_

My sight returned and my eyes looked back and saw Stormfly extricating herself from the gate while we pulled away, flying after us with heaving chest. But as much as Dorn's muscles had atrophied in weeks on the ground, she had been in a cage for months, and she could barely make it off the ground. The Tyrant gave up on her before we reached the first sea-stack, but did not give up on us.

A storm came in the Auror, but it was nothing like the raid-storm; it was weaker; it was desperate; it was the last effort of a failing dragon to regain the control which had slipped from her talons like sand and was escaping her even now. Dorn flew away, just away, weakening her mastery of the Auror-breezes until her signal was merely a dull pulse on the horizon, diminishing slowly until it too was gone.

We'd made it. We were out of the Tyrant's range.

 _It is done._

 _The crisis has passed._

 _We are safe._

My sixth sense felt a bulge under the surface with Dorn on the flight away and outwards, if anything an emotion, close enough to see with the Sight, see there was something different with Dorn's presence; faint enough it was beyond my reach to identify. A mellowing? Was this the sense growing stronger in me, letting me reason out what had been there all along?

" _You were a big help back there,"_ he said, words accompanied by a culpable undertone of relief. " _There's something I haven't said to you,_ _and I need to_ _."_

How he had transformed me? His life story? Some secret – _don't go there._

My ears flicked closer.

" _What?"_

" _Thank you."_

 _He said what?_

A breath. The world felt like a dream again, but a good dream for the first time.

" _I don't know what to say._ _I did so many bad things to you. I got your tailfin ruined and…_ _and…_ _"_

" _I'm flying now, aren't I?_ _Thank you,"_ he kept on, " _f_ _or sticking with me_ _and helping me out, and being headstrong enough_ _to keep from killing yourself._ _Or maiming. Or maiming_ _._ _When you get picked… when I got picked_ _I had to be_ _just the right kind of somebody,_ _or I'd_ _put myself in a ditch_ _and that would be five years wasted by my father._ _It's a tough thing, a pick._ _"_

" _So I'll turn out alright?"_

" _More than._ _As alright_ _as_ _the circumstances let you be, the kind_ _that let_ _you withstand all… this."_

And he waved a foreleg, momentarily at a loss for words.

A laugh came from me, and it was a good laugh.

" _You've earned my trust,"_ he said. " _Have I earned yours?"_

" _Yes."_

* * *

 _ **Ah, the unnamed guest; a mainstay of FFN. I agree with you with what you've said;** **it was correct at the time and it still stings, even though I've had this chap in store and** **hopefully fulfilled what you wanted without even seeing your review, but one never knows.** **You wanted internal dialogue and you got it,** **and you wanted trust and you got it.**_

 _ **This has** **been done for…** **a couple weeks, a couple weeks, but in the state it was on the 18** **th** **I didn't feel comfortable with releasing it, and** **it sat there until today, when I decided I might as well burnish the imperfections on what I think is a good chapter.**_

 _ **Poke holes in my story, by all means;** **c** **onstructive criticism is appreciated; it's changed the story before and it'll change the story again, which I intend to continue (although the where, when, and how I'm too cliché to disclose).**_

 _ **The review box is right down below, and I read everything and respond to it.** **It only takes a few seconds of your time.**_

 _ **Stay p** **osted.**_

 _ **B. Avar.**_


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